


Resurgence

by muldertorture (steelneena)



Series: The Truth and the Light [5]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: A bunch of ocs - Freeform, Angst, Experimental Style, F/M, MILD inspiration from the season 10 and 11 comics, Mending Relationships, Mulder and Scully that are actually in character, Mulder's ESP, Pre-Colonization, Scully has visions, Slice of Life, Suburbia, attempts to make sense of the mythology, discussions of a lost child, getting along with the neighbours, idk what else to put here anymore, imminent alien invasion, living in Roswell, medical content, pop culture references, post iwtb, pre colonization, professor!mulder, professor!scully, tasteful sex scenes - will be announced at the beginning of the chapter, this story cares about the livelihood of bees, underground rebellion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:13:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 39,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22793794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelneena/pseuds/muldertorture
Summary: There are four years left before Colonization arrives and everything will change. What begins as the terrifying resurgence of a deadly ability becomes the catalyst for the preparations they always knew they'd end up making. Preparations for the end of the world as we know it.In the interim, Mulder and Scully learn one another again, grow, live, and prepare.Part 5 of 10 of The Truth and the LightCOMPLETE
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Series: The Truth and the Light [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/395458
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	1. January 27th, 2009, Unremarkable House, Farrs Corner, Virginia

**Author's Note:**

> While this would probably make sense without reading the immediately previous works, they're not that long, so you may as well go read them...
> 
> I started working on this about five years ago, so it is pretty much untainted/uninfluenced by the revival. This picks up immediately after IWTB, and as a result, and ignores anything brought forward in the revival completely. I doubt any of you mind. 
> 
> If you're curious about my vision of William, look up Jerry Shiban SDCC and you'll see the incredible vision of a *real* Mulder and Scully baby - aka the grown up version of the actual baby who played William in the show. It's scarily believable. 
> 
> COMPLETE, but undergoing revisions, and will be posted on a once a week schedule, ever Tuesday, give or take.

**January 27th, 2009 Unremarkable House, Farrs Corner, Virginia**

The searing pain that shot through his head upon waking was incredible. Mulder rolled over, snaking his arm out from under Scully’s where she had lain hers over his in the night, and clasped his hands to his head, massaging his temples. A faint noise was growing, almost a chatter, strangely muted as though it was coming from a different room. He groaned and pulled his pillow out from under his head, holding it down over his ears in effort to drown out the sound.

“Mulder?” The groggy tone of Scully’s voice just barely filtered through the downy barrier, but the other noises continued. “What’s up?”

“You left the radio on again,” he grumbled, letting up on the pillow to blink at Scully, who was now propped up on her elbow, hair mussed from the night’s rest.

“Radio?” Her question was garbled, and her nose scrunched up in confusion. Watching her, taking in the grace of such normal movements, Mulder would have smiled if he wasn’t in so much pain.

“Gave me a headache…” Running a hand over his face and rolling over, Mulder tried to even his breathing, to focus on the in and out of the air in his lungs. There was a moment’s silence, before Scully sat up abruptly, as if suddenly wide awake.

“Mulder, there’s no radio on.”

Brow’s quirking, Mulder screwed up his face in confusion. “What are you talking about? Of course the radio is-“

_Ohmygodohmygodit’shappeningagainhe’sreadingpeople’sthoughtsnononononono-_

“Oh.” The word fell from his lips dryly, emotionlessly, as he realized what was happening. “Why were you dreaming about the Oxi-clean man? Should I be concerned? Or is this a hint for me to grow out the beard again?”

“Damn it Mulder!” Scully’s words came out a sigh rather than an exclamation. “This is serious.” _Whatisthisgoingtomeangoingforward?Whataboutourplans?WhatamIgoingtodo?There’snocureforthis.There’sno-_

“There might not be a cure but there is the Phenytoin.”

She stared at him like he’d grown a second head, and that was when Mulder remembered that she’d had very limited exposure to his ability in the past. Scully shook herself suddenly looking awake, and bit her lip. Reaching out a hand towards him, she pushed the hair back from his forehead where it stuck in the clammy sweat from his ill-sleep. Her thoughts were less sentences in that moment, more impressions. Love and fear, anxiousness and determination all flooded over him. And then: _WellIguesshe’s-_

“Going with you to the hospital today. Yep.”

Scully made a face and Mulder chuckled humourlessly as he sat up. “I’m not really looking forward to it, you know, but probably for a whole different set of reasons than you think. I know I can be a real pain, Scully, but it’s not so bad really, when it’s just you and me, when it’s something physical. But in the future, let’s leave the paid programming personalities out of it. Too many conflicting voices and all that,”

Despite herself, Scully smiled too. “Are you asking me to control my dreams Mulder?”

“Lucid dreaming is a verifiable experience and a state which can be reached through several, scientifically based-“ He heard her mental groan in his head before she spoke.

“Okay, okay Mulder, I get the picture. I’ll get you some pain killers now so that they’ll have kicked in by the time we get there. Hopefully that will help with the headache.”

“It’s not just that…” He trailed off when the worry spiked within her. “No one wants to hear the thoughts of people in a hospital, Scully. They’re not particularly pleasant.” Quickly, sensing the trajectory of her thoughts, he added. “Please don’t feel bad. It’s not your fault and I shouldn’t be complaining. Last time… the way it started…there was no reprieve. I don’t have too much of a headache now; it’s receding.”

It was evident in her expression that she was parsing the information, even if he couldn’t hear her thoughts. She knew that he knew that she didn’t quite believe him, and so she opted out of saying anything.

“You’re learning,” he said. The smile he gave was a sad one. “Let’s hope it doesn’t have to become second nature any time soon.”

The drive to the hospital that morning was interesting from an academic standpoint. Scully had given Mulder as high a dosage of over the counter pain meds as she was comfortable with and they were already kicking in when he started to get interference with his 24/7 Scully exclusive mind radio, which was a conflicting signal of intense worry and a repeating refrain of _Jerimiah was a Bullfrog_ , which, even when sung only in her mind, was horrifically out of tune, and frankly atrocious when layered over one another like a corrupted mp3 file.

They drove past a few single passenger vehicles and he picked up grumblings about the earliness of the hour, another dreading a particular meeting, and one person who was fed up with the news programme they were listening to on the radio, but in that special way that meant that they wouldn't stop listening anyways.

They were manageable. Two people at a time was okay. It was nicer than listening to Scully’s dire mental landscape, which he could filter out from that of the other drivers well enough, and the pills he’d taken were doing their job adequately, considering he’d swallowed them only fifteen minutes prior. Then had come the school bus. Unable to contain his response to the overwhelming sensation of nearly fifty minds, all ages 11-18 with the exception of the driver, exuding a remarkable number of thoughts for the pre-dawn hour (ranging from dead baby jokes to the overbearing phrase _‘why won’t they shut_ up’) the noise of the chatter devolved almost instantly into a shrill whine. He knew he had cried out when Scully slammed on the breaks. Thankfully, he also knew that there wasn’t a single vehicle behind them.

Realizing that he’d covered his ears – his body’s natural attempt to stem the intolerable sounds – he pulled them away, breathing hard, and glanced at Scully. Her hands gripped the wheel, knuckles white.

“It surprised me, that’s all. I wasn’t prepared,” He tried to assuage her. It didn’t work. They waited, watching until the bus turned down an intersecting road and Scully started the car moving again.

Gradually they reentered civilization and the voices built at his temples in an unending pressure. Mulder tried to temper his reaction, but eventually he gave up, curling into the side of the car, gripping his hand in the door pull. His head lay against the seat rest and his eyes fluttered shut.

“Mulder?” Her voice came to him as if out of a fog and when he finally opened his eyes they were already, miraculously in the hospital parking lot. “Mulder, you blacked out. I’m going to get someone to help bring you in, okay?”

He may have nodded, but he wasn’t sure. Before long, two orderlies were hauling him up out of the car and settling him in a wheelchair. When he next came to, he had an IV in his arm and was lying in a hospital bed. A quick glance at the clock, after his vision came into focus, told him that he hadn’t lost more than twenty minutes, unless he’d lost nearly a whole twenty four hours, which, with his track record, Mulder knew was entirely possible.

The voices were still there, but they were tainted with static, as though the station he was tuning into wasn’t coming in well, so they must have given him some sort of drug. He chuckled darkly at his continuing use of the radio metaphor to describe his brain, wishing at the very least he could manage to find some sports station. Alone, at least for the time being, Mulder allowed his thoughts to stray and found himself thinking of a little boy, though not the one who was most usually on his mind.

Gibson Praise, quiet and reclusive due to his (now their) condition. Frankly, Mulder was starting to see the genius in hiding at a deaf school. Any less noise was better less noise. What he wouldn’t have given to talk to Gibson, to ask his advice. When they were hiding together in New Mexico, Mulder had never bothered to ask. His ordeal was over and, all things considered, he and Scully both had figured the brain surgery would be the end of any and all future he had as a Tangina Barrons. That, above the possibility that he’d end up a vegetable, above the likelihood that he would be driven insane, was what he feared most: not knowing what had caused the resurgence of the ability. The previous time it had been caused by exposure to the artifact rubbing.

This time, nothing.

And if there was no cause, how could there ever be a solution?

Scully came into the room then, an African American doctor at her heels. If he had to guess, Mulder suspected that this was her close colleague Ray Anders, a neurologist who was hired around the same time she was. For many months, Scully confided in Mulder that her only real friend was Ray, simply because he was in the same situation and they both felt…well… a little less than welcomed; Scully because of her reluctance to interact on a personal level with anyone, and Anders because he was from out of town and generally unfamiliar with his surroundings. But while Anders grew into his role, Scully had maintained her distance.

She’d done it all for him, Mulder knew, and it ate him up inside. When they had finally returned to the states after his trial, his very citizenship was questionable and hiding him was at the top of their priority list, which didn’t make for attending staff functions terribly high on the priorities list.

The rest was history.

“You must be Ray Anders. Wish we could have met under better circumstances. I’m a big fan of anyone who’s in Scully’s corner,” Mulder joked weakly.

“I am indeed, Mr. Mulder. It’s nice to meet you too, all things considered.”

He didn’t look as curious as he might have, had Scully not already enlightened him of their relationship. “Dana’s given me a little bit of background on what the circumstances are here, but I would like to hear more from you.”

Mulder looked to Scully, curious, and tried, for once to focus his ability, to read her so he knew what exactly she’d covered, but it was useless, the drug muddling the thoughts all together with that of everyone within what felt like three floors.

“I started getting these headaches several year back. Came on really suddenly and got progressively worse, to the point where I was literally catatonic. My brain’s way of protecting itself, I think. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak. It was pretty bad. Then, I was…” He paused, looking for a more judicious turn of phrase. “…taken…by some people who performed an, um, illicit brain surgery on me, and the headaches went away. Turns out they removed part of my brain. Not long after that I was diagnosed with brain disease. They thought that was inoperable, but we’ll just say that all that hasn’t bothered me in years.” 

Anders was nodding along as he spoke, as if mentally ticking off everything Scully must have said. “Dana told me that there would most likely be signs of electro encephalitic trauma, but we won’t be able to tell for sure until we perform a scan. And this migraine came on as suddenly as the first ones did, years back? No lead in? No headaches prior?” 

“Honestly Doc, more suddenly than before. Without warning.” Mulder sighed. It didn’t really matter, he knew. Whatever regular Doctors could do for him was little more than slapping a band aid on a gunshot wound. Whatever the Syndicate’s doctors had done amounted to little more than the same. Whatever it was and wherever it really came from, it was clear that it wasn’t going away, or that if it did, it might come right along back. 

Thoughts of their lost son resurfaced. Mulder remembered the stories he had been told about the extraordinary feats William had performed, mentally summoning the artifact, moving his mobile with his mind. The barest shadow of a doubt as to his true parentage dissipated entirely the moment Mulder realized that the ability returned. Scully had been taken, and they’d both been infected by the virus. His junk DNA had been activated by the artifact. Perhaps that was all it took, no miracle at all, but rather just the perfect combination of abductee and alien-human hybrid DNA. 

It made Mulder shudder and yet gave him comfort at the same time. 

“Thank you Mr. Mulder. Dana, I’ll let you sit with him a bit while I try and get us scheduled for a scan. We can talk when I get back.” 

As Anders exited the room and Scully drew near him, Mulder could finally tell that the drug, whatever it was, was wearing off. “What’d they give me, Scully? It’s like listening to half of the news station and half of the baseball game at the same time through static in here right now.” 

Scully sat on the edge of his bed, reaching a hand out to take his, placing it in her lap. “Morphine.” His eyebrows made a valiant attempt to disappear into his hairline at her statement. “It’s helping?” She asked, but he only made a face in response. “Not really, huh?”

“The little guys running around up there are tuning the dial as we speak. It’s helping, but not for long.” Mulder reached out a hand and brushed her cheek. “They can’t help me here, Scully. I need help from people who understand what’s happening to me. Someone for whom this ability was really meant, because I can’t help but think that maybe my body is rejecting it.” 

“If we could find Gibson-“

“No, Scully.” He shook his head. “We can’t put him in jeopardy again. If this is the way things have got to be, then we’ll just have to deal with it. And if I’m…if I’m out of commission Scully, we have to do what we can while we can, because you’re going to be the only one left…” 

Suddenly, Mulder felt her hand clasp his, tightly. “We do this together, Mulder. We’re making plans. We are going to move, we are going to subvert what’s coming in 2012, and we are going to find our son. And we are going to do it together.” _BecauseIcan’tdothisalone.IdiditalonefortoolongandIpromisedmyself never,neveragainandIcan’tandIwon’t-_

Mulder sighed as Scully’s thoughts once again became clear in his head. Though the range was still limited, it was expanding more and more each moment. 

“We’ll get through this.” _I hope_. She attempted to reassure him, squeezing his hand more tightly. 

“I hope so too.” 

Scully eyes widened and the set of her shoulders slumped.

It was only a matter of time.


	2. Same Day Our Lady of Sorrows Hospital, Virginia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know balls about medical stuff, sorry to anyone who does, I just used what I could glean from the show. This topic won't last long.

**Same Day Our Lady of Sorrows Hospital, Virginia**

Scully worried her lower lip with her incisor as she waited outside Mulder’s room for Ray to come back with the scan’s results. The first dosage of morphine wore off before the test, and both she and Ray had been reluctant to continue dosing him as highly as they had the first time. When she finally spotted Ray, Scully had to force herself to remain where she was, all her pent up anxiety expelling itself in the form of inane movements.

“Dana, you’ll want to look at these.”

Nervously, she nodded, but together they walked to Rays office, where he put the scans up against a backlit board. “Anomalous brain activity. Loads of it. I’ve never seen anything like this.” 

Her heart sank. “I have. Not only in Mulder, last time, but in someone else. A boy. I can’t give you his name,” Scully stated, carefully working around the specifics, “but he didn’t suffer like this.” 

Ray looked at her perplexedly. “You’re telling me that this kid lived like this, pain free?”

“Yes.”

“But Mr. Mulder can’t?”

Scully’s lips twisted distastefully at the implied question at the end of Ray’s statement. “Apparently.”

“Look Dana.” Ray sat on the edge of his desk. “I know that you have this mysterious background and all, and that you can’t talk about a lot of things because of your previous job. But we’re friends. I hope you believe that you can trust me, because unless you start giving me something to work from here, your friend isn’t going to get better very fast.” 

“I used to live by the mantra ‘trust no one’. No one except Mulder.” 

“Dana.” He brought his hands together, steepling them. “Please.” 

Scully allowed herself to collapse into the chair across from him, putting her head in her hands.

“Who is this guy, Dana?” Ray asked, softening. “What’s going on?”

There was no other option. Scully sighed, heavily. “We’ve been together for years. We’ve lived together long enough that the state considers us common law. There’s no one else for me, Ray. I can’t-I can’t lose him. I can’t, I just can’t. Not again.”

“Dana,” Ray’s tone brought her to lift her head. “I will help your, um, your partner in any way I can. But you have to help me help him first.”

Scully stood, pulling the transparency from where it hung. Without a word she left the room, Ray following her as they made their way back to where Mulder waited. All the while she deliberated over the tenuous decision that was growing shakily stronger in her head.

“Welcome back,” Mulder greeted them wryly when they entered. Ignoring him, she held up the scan to the light for him to see, and thought as directly and firmly as she could. Mulder looked long and hard at her and at the scan, then, glanced to Ray.

“Shut the door, Scully. We can trust him.”

“You’re sure?” 

“As sure as I can be of anything right now. It’s our best bet and you know it.”

Fine lines were etching their way across his forehead, Scully noticed with chagrin. The growing headaches caused him to squint, and the pain would be forever visible on his face. He must have heard her thoughts, because he turned sad eyes on her and she was overwhelmed by a wave of misplaced anger that he should feel sorry her for worries. 

“Ray,” Mulder said, suddenly. “I’m curious. Do you have a dog?”

Scully wrinkled her nose slightly at his line of questioning, and watched as Ray showed obvious confusion. She waited with bated breath for him to start. 

“Well, yeah…” 

“I bet right now you’re thinking ‘what the hell is this guy thinking? Dogs? Why dogs? I should be telling him about the anomalous brain activi-what the hell is going-how is he-what the-‘”

Mulder stopped talking. Ray was standing stock still. Scully took in his position and moved to stand beside Mulder’s bed.

“That’s not possible,” he said amazed and disturbed, looking intently at Mulder.

“More accurately you mean to say ‘this is fucking insane,’. At least, it’s what you were really thinking,”

“How are you doing that?”

“You know how. You’re thinking it right now. You’re thinking that it’s impossible, that people can’t read minds. But you also believe the evidence of your eyes,” Mulder stated, as if reciting from a tele-prompter. Scully didn’t doubt that that’s what it felt like. She put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently, reassuringly. “I’m a reverse Galadriel. I know.” She shook her head at his willingness to constantly make light, especially when in the hospital. That was, if he wasn’t complaining. “Take as much time as you need.”

Ray kept his gaze on Mulder, and Scully observed him, looking for a sign that she’d made the wrong decision, but she saw nothing. Finally, Ray nodded.

“Alright. Whatever you need, I’ll do my best. This ability, is this what’s causing your migraines?”

“Yes. It happened once before. I was exposed to an artifact and it jump started the ability. Problem is, my brain and hearing people's thoughts don’t seem to be compatible. Like I’m missing a piece or something. The procedure that was done on my brain stopped it until now.”

“We don’t know what triggered it,” Scully piped up, “and I’m worried that without a known cause, it will be all the more difficult to treat. We tempered the effects with high doses of phenytoin last time, but I’m concerned about the possibility of addiction if we try that again. It wasn’t a cure, just something to lessen the effects when we had run out of options.”

“Yeah, I don’t want to end up a high functioning vegetable again, Doc,” Mulder said with a wry smile. 

Ray frowned, rubbing at his chin thoughtfully. “So, the first time, there was a trigger, some shadowy group of people did a surgery on you, and it all went away. This time, boom, it’s suddenly back, like it’s nothing?” 

“Yes, that’s the basic run down. Could it be an incompatibility? How would we even tell, or know where to begin?” Scully felt her voice growing more frantic than she’d attempted to maintain it. Sensing it, naturally, Mulder put his hand on hers, grounding her and she took a deep, slow breath. 

Ray shook his head. “You’re both talking like you’ve seen this ‘work’ without _any_ headaches before…” Ray must have seen the look on her face, because he let his sentence trail away. “You have, haven’t you?” 

“Twice. One case I mentioned before. The other is…different. I can’t say who or how for either. For their protection. It was a natural part of them both. Born with the ability as an intrinsic part of who they were.” She tried to think clinically, tried to ignore that one of the two she was thinking of was her flesh and blood, their son. All the same, Mulder squeezed her hand comfortingly.

Ray blinked wildly, removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose before replacing them. “Without something to test against, I’d be starting from square one.” 

Mulder chose that moment to wince in pain, clutching at his head suddenly. “Morphine’s really starting to wear down here. Doesn’t much matter I guess. You’ve got all the information from me that you need. Scully knows my medical history far better than I do anyways.” He cringed again and curled into himself, and Scully was on him in a moment.

“Look at me, Mulder. Breathe, breathe. I’m here, Mulder!”

She felt absolutely helpless, fought the hot burn in her eyes and the ache in her heart. 

“S’okay Scully. Black’n out’s better’n being awake.” 

“Oh, Mulder.”


	3. Thursday, February 12th, 2009 Burke Center Library, Burke, Springfield, Virginia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is three days late - I get distracted grading papers, running clubs and administering the ACT. Whoops. Anyway, here's Wonderwall.

**Thursday, February 12th, 2009 Burke Center Library, Burke, Springfield, Virginia**

Scully was frantic with worry when she finally found Mulder in the public library, his eyes closed, sitting at an empty table, fingers steepled in front of him. He didn’t seem to be in any pain, but he wasn’t moving either. In her purse, she rummaged for the syringe of Phenytoin that had been prescribed for him until Ray was able to come up with a better solution. None seemed imminent. 

“Mulder!” She hissed under her breath. “Mulder, please tell me you can hear me.” 

Surprise shot through her when his eyes flew open, and he smiled, a genuine smile, for the first time in a while. “Hey, Scully.”

“You scared me, Mulder!” she admonished, putting away the syringe. “How are you managing this? You didn’t take anything did you?” She asked, worried that he’d driven while under some narcotic influence.

“No, Scully. I didn’t take anything. I’m fine. I’m practicing.”

“But I thought that-” 

“It’s paying off,” he said, a meaningful look in his eyes. They almost sparkled again, absent as they were of pain. 

All of the previous three weeks, Mulder hadn’t even been able to leave the house without experiencing crippling migraines. He remained secluded in their home, often sitting out on the porch in the last vestiges of winter’s cold, watching the spring take over. Doing what, she hadn’t know. He had been cooped up for so long, Scully thought that it was his attempt at feeling free. In reality, it seemed Mulder had been working hard.

“What do you mean ‘practicing’?” She sat then, reassured that Mulder wasn’t going to keel over in pain. 

Mulder took her hand, rubbing the skin of her knuckles. “It’s different than the last time, Scully. I don’t know what started it, and I don’t know why it’s different, but it is. It’s like working a muscle, Scully. Like studying. I haven’t done anything so challenging since my doctorate at Oxford. I just needed to learn how to use it. The pain was because I was doing things that I wasn’t ready for, not that I could control it anyways. So, I decided, why not start small? Learn how to tune in and out of your thoughts, and then I added in our neighbours, and the cars driving past, and then, I started driving closer to town and work on the outskirts while you were on your shift, and now I’m here.”

“And you can tune in and out to any of these people?” she asked, relishing the reassuring feel of the pad of his thumb as it worked semicircles on her hand. 

“Yep. It’s the perfect place, you know. Only the usual amount of noise as anywhere else. No one talks!” He spread his arms with a boyish smile. “Who knew I’d come to love that rule? It’s good for my focus. I don’t like the superstore yet. Definitely no Walmart runs for me for a while. The library is my training wheels. I can maintain a certain spectrum of distance, but I’m still working on keeping things on the level when I’m in high population area.”

After so much going wrong for them so often, it was almost impossible to believe…and yet…“Thank God,” she breathed, feeling her entire body uncoil as the tension dissipated.

“I couldn’t leave you, Scully.” Mulder drew her knuckles to his lips, just brushing a kiss there. “I couldn’t leave you to handle all of this on your own. I owe it to you that I stay by your side, through anything. Scully, if this ability would have crippled me-” 

“Stop it, Mulder. Just stop it. Don’t even say it. By some miracle, things are different this time. But I’m still taking you in to see Ray. I want him to do a scan. I want to understand how this works. We can’t take any chances.”

“I know.” He gave in with surprisingly little effort on her part, causing Scully to grow suspicious. “The ability is back. We can’t know why or how. I have to use it. We don’t have long, Scully. 2012 isn’t some far off, distant impossibility anymore. It’s already 2009.”

Feeling almost indulgent, almost outside of the conversation, despite its heavy nature, she expelled a long, exaggerated sigh. “Where?” 

“New Mexico. Strategically, it’s the smartest location. And your requirement was no snow and no memories.”

Scully smiled sadly. “But you have memories there, Mulder. Memories from when you were in hiding, from when…” 

“But I also have connections,” he broke in. “Albert Hosteen’s family hid me last time. They’ll help us now. This thing is coming, Scully, and I’ve languished too long in the belief that it would be a hopeless cause. What you did with Christian…”

Scully paled, but said nothing. His hand was still clutching hers. 

“What you did with Christian…! I mean, the amount of faith you had that, despite the odds, he could and would pull through...” He looked out at her, earnestness shining in his eyes. Scully, I have always wanted to believe. Believe in the impossible, believe in things that would help me to rationalize the parts of the world I couldn’t understand. But you, you have _always_ had belief. Always. And I just needed to be reminded of it. It’s been so long since I did something meaningful in the world, since I mattered to anyone but you. Since I mattered to myself,” 

“Don’t say that, Mulder,” 

“It’s the Truth, Scully, and they say the Truth will set you free. This is what I’m meant for. I didn’t want this, but it’s mine to bear. I have the ability, and I have to use it for something good. I have to. I’m going to reach out to some of our friends. Start organizing us, so that we’re not helpless when the time comes. And you and I will move and start over and make the most of our three years.” He brought a hand to her cheek tenderly. “Look at you!”

Scully was surprised to find tears in his eyes, and a particular reverence she hadn’t noticed in a long time. It took her breath away, knowing the expanse of his feeling was so plainly laid before her, an offering freely given with no expectations in return. “Look what you are capable of inspiring! People put their trust in you every day. I’m trusting you now,” 

“Okay,” she said, voice shaking. “Okay. But I can’t go back into that darkness, Mulder. Not unless there’s something at the end of it all that’s light.”

“Scully, _you_ _are_ the light. You’re the one that has the ability to bring hope. It will be inevitable that we’ll have to stare down that darkness, but until then, we have to work on ways to keep that light alive,” 

“Purity.” Scully followed his thought trajectory. “You want me to work on the Purity vaccine.”

“It’s one avenue. I’ll get you what you need to do the research. Research, that’s all it’ll be on your end, Scully.” 

“You’re going to leave again, aren’t you?” 

He looked down and away from her, a sure sign he was going to lie and it was a bitter pill to stomach.

“Yes.” He looked back up at her, her face splayed with uncensored shock at his honesty, at his willingness to face the discomfort of that one particular truth. “Eventually. But not right now. There are things I can do without leaving. But I have this ability, and I’m going to have to use it, Scully. My conscience can’t take it. I can’t live with this and do nothing. Please tell me you understand.” 

Scully brushed a tear from his cheek. “Mulder, it was always your destiny to stand against the darkness, and I’ll always stand beside you.”

“I love you, Scully,” he murmured, so quietly that she almost missed it. 

“I love you too, Mulder. God help us, I love you too,” 


	4. Tuesday, June 2nd 2009 Arts and Sciences Center, Eastern New Mexico University, Roswell, New Mexico

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost forgot again. Whoops. 
> 
> Anything referenced that is datestamped is real. Check the links at the end if you're interested in the details. I have a bad habit of having to make things that are set in our world as realistic as possible despite the fact that its a fictional universe.

**Tuesday, June 2nd 2009 Arts and Sciences Center, Eastern New Mexico University, Roswell, New Mexico**

“So that’s pages 10-23 for Tuesday in the Schacter text and the article that you should have taken from the table when you got here. And don’t forget that in two weeks we’ll be meeting in the library so you can start the research work, so be determining your topics and think smart about your groups.” 

There was a grumble throughout the room at the teacher’s words. 

“Ah, ah, play nice guys. And no stealing each other’s ideas! I may not be a 40 something mom with eyes in the back of my head, but I _will_ know. Now get outta here, my Yankee’s game is on in two hours and I’ve got to get dinner ready for later.” 

Students muttered things like “See ya Professor” and “Bye Doctor Blake” and even “Later Doc” as they filed out of the room, headphones around their necks, backpacks slung over single shoulders, which would ultimately lead to back problems in later life, but for the time being, made them look and feel cool. Mulder smiled, bemused. It had been two months. Just two months and his whole life was different. 

He was packing his things into the satchel Scully bought him when he told her he’d got the job. The first in many years, it felt strange to be doing something not life threatening while being paid, much less using his psychology degree for something other than profiling. It had made him almost unreasonably happy, and he’d almost found himself surprised at just how important the job had become to him, in such a short amount of time. Which made it all the more imperative that their work be successful. So many young, promising minds would be snuffed out. So much potential for good lost.

With little warning, Mulder sensed another presence headed towards the room. It was a nondescript room, just one of many that rotated through subjects, students, and teachers throughout the week so it could have been anyone, and normally he would have dismissed it, but this presence was intent on the room, which meant it was likely intent on him. Back still turned to the door, Mulder let go of his restraint a notch, enough to determine if the presence was familiar.

It was. He was just placing the last few markers into the front pocket when the student entered.

“Need something?” he asked, feeling the student’s surprise slip through his barriers. 

“How’d you know I was here Professor?” 

Mulder turned to see Carly Studebecker, one of his Psych 101 students who had been missing from class that morning, and smiled, a glint in his eye, but didn’t answer. 

“Studebecker. You must be here to catch up on what you missed?” he retorted, one eyebrow raised. She looked pained. 

“I know, I should get it from a classmate or your website first, but I figured if you were still here, I’d just…”She smiled tightly, pleadingly. “…come straight to the source?” 

He sighed in an exaggerated, beleaguered manner. “Fine.” He pulled out a pad of paper and a pen, scribbling the assigned work for the next class. “This is college. Whether you come to class or not, it’s not my problem, but if you want notes or have questions, talk to a student or come to my office hours next time,” he said, though not unkindly, handing her the paper. 

“Gotcha.” Narrowing here eyes, she scrutinized him. “There’s a game on this afternoon, isn’t there?” 

A wan smile crossed Mulder’s face and he chuckled. “How’d you guess?” he asked and they both laughed. It was no secret to his students how much Mulder loved his baseball. When Carly made no move to go, he gave her an expectant look. “Is there something else?” 

“Professor, what did you do before you came to work here?” 

At least she had the gall to look sheepish. 

“Let’s walk and talk,” he replied, throwing the bag over his shoulder. “Why’d you ask?” 

“Because you keep making references to “what professors should do” and it seems like you don’t really think of yourself as one. I’m just curious what else you can do with a psychology degree.” 

“Well, for the last seven years or so I’ve been...” Floundering for a moment, he searched for a suitable word, before finally settling on- “…writing. Before that I worked for the FBI and before that I was a profiler, but before _that_ I did a little practical work with patients. Not that I finished, so before you ask, no, I’ve never been _that_ kind of Doctor. There’s lots you can do with a degree in psych.” 

He chanced a look at her. She seemed pensive. 

“You’re hung up on the FBI thing aren’t you.” It was less a question and more of a statement. 

“Where you an actual agent?” 

“Yes.” 

“Shit.” 

“That’s quite the verbose response. Do tell more.” 

It took her a moment to recover from his wry humour. “I mean, it’s intense.” 

“Yes,” he conceded. “It was.” For a while they walked in silence, and before long they’d reached the parking lot, and he dug into his pocket for the keys. 

“Well, I guess you need to get going. Thanks Professor.” 

“No problem, Studebecker.” 

The conversation sat heavy in his stomach all the way home. 

Home. 

Roswell, New Mexico had a certain feel to it that Mulder had never been sure he really liked. It was part vast emptiness and part energetic imagination. When he’d lived there last (with Gibson in a trailer outside of town), he hated it. Hated everything that it entailed. Being away from Scully. Being away from William. Constantly looking over his shoulder. Never sleeping well. The open expanse of the desert didn’t feel secure, despite the fact that the actual physical surroundings were the only thing keeping them safe, or at least a relative approximation of it. Hiding in plain sight had been just about the single most terrifying thing he done willingly in his life. 

With Scully, things were different. They lived in a house now, an actual, honest to God house, a bit like the last one they’d had in Virginia, unremarkable, small, but closer to town. Scully went to church, they ate out, bought groceries, visited the library, the whole nine yards. It was surreal to be living an actual, normal life after so long. When they first moved to town, a neighbour visited them with offerings in the form of a six pack and a local map. He was Anthony Blake once again and she was Dana Blake, and he’d even been asked to join the local guys at the basketball courts. Scully, on the other hand, joined a book club to temper her time at the Forensic Anthropology department and Research Center at the Portales branch campus of the same university. It was an hour and a half commute, but the Roswell branch, unfortunately, didn’t offer what Scully needed. 

Mulder’s drive was hardly twenty minutes, something for which he felt mildly guilty. He pulled into the garage and was in the house in less than one. Dumping his bag in his office (which was adjacent to Scully’s - the extra room on the main floor had been the selling point for them both), he only paused to turn on his tape recording of NPR’s _Morning Edition_ , which he hadn’t been able to finish that morning before leaving the house, and then headed to the refrigerator to make himself a lunch before he got the crockpot ready. 

_“And we have an update now on the disappearance of Air France Flight 447. You'll recall that was the plane that left Rio de Janeiro on Sunday bound for Paris. It had 228 people on board and it disappeared._

_It went missing about four hours into the flight with no distress call from the flight deck. Today Brazil's air force is reporting that it has found debris._

Mulder pulled two slices of pizza from the fridge, sniffed them curiously, then popped them on a plate into the microwave. 

_Items including plane seats turned up about 400 miles off Brazil's northeastern coast. The reasons for the aircraft's disappearance are still unknown._

_We have more from NPR's Eleanor Beardsley in Paris._

_“Little hope remains that anyone will be found alive, making this the worst air crash in a decade. Air France flight 447 disappeared early Monday four hours into its 11-hour flight from Rio de Janeiro to Paris. Although the exact cause of the disappearance remains a mystery, dozens of automatic messages were triggered when the plane passed through a storm._

Finger poised, he stopped the microwave before it could beep. He reached without looking into the micro and pulled his fingers away, wringing his stinging hand before removing the steaming plate of pizza a bit more carefully. He popped two fingers into his mouth, sucking on them to lessen the pain as he made for the sink, where he ran the reddened digits under cool water.

_Those messages said the plane's electrical system was failing. Nothing was heard after that. Aviation expert Chris Yates told News Channel France 24 what that could mean.”_

_“The severity, I think, is evidence of that electrical short circuit insomuch as we haven't heard from the pilot. That would suggest that the communication systems almost immediately went out, and I would venture to suggest that perhaps this aircraft went down very quickly indeed.”_

_“This morning, family members of passengers returned to the crisis center at Paris's Charles de Gaulle Airport hoping for news. They're unlikely to receive any quick answers._

_For NPR News, I'm Eleanor Beardsley in Paris.”_

The tape stopped. Casually, Mulder switched the radio to live for _All Things Considered_ as he sat down to eat, just a little late to catch the whole story. 

_“ - Korean political and military officials were informed that Kim Jong Un, in his mid-20s, has been anointed to succeed his father, according to reports in South Korea's media._

_North Korea leadership-watching is a murky business, full of unconfirmed reports and questionable sourcing. Jong Un is believed to have been educated in Switzerland, where he learned to ski, and to speak English, French and German._

_There are few countries left where a ruler can say he has the right to rule because his father and grandfather did._

_But Kim Jae-bum, professor emeritus at the Institute of Foreign Affairs and National Security in Seoul says that's the prevailing logic in Pyongyang._

_"This is a kind of inherited philosophy, that the 'Great Leader' [Kim Il Sung] founded the country and the party, and his son was an heir, so that the third generation has a kind of legitimacy," Kim says.”_

As the report went on, Mulder found his mind drifting. Every day, he listened to the news. He supposed that Scully did too, in the car, usually, he suspected, but she was up earlier than him so he didn’t really know. Life going on. People living, dying, being named heir to a tiny but powerful and dangerous nation. 

There were a little less than three years left. That was almost 43 months. Or 1299 days. Time that would seem like more than enough to anyone else was encroaching on Mulder and Scully like death coming for a geriatric. He shivered, thinking, remembering the phone number he had scribbled down for the property up in Belle Fourche. The time to prepare was now. He’d call it later. After the game. 80 acres of land settled on a magnetite deposit was no small matter.

“ - _too inexperienced compared with his father, says Stanford University's Daniel Sneider, an expert on North and South Korea._

_"Kim Jong Il had a long period of time serving in senior positions in the party apparatus, in the government apparatus, so he established his legitimacy as a successor over a period of time," Sneider says._

_But the elder Kim made arrangements for this in April, getting his son onto the National Defense Commission. This de facto ruling council is headed by Chang Song Taek, Kim Jong Il's brother-in-law, who could serve as a regent until the young Kim matures._

_When Kim Jong Il suffered a stroke last summer, reports suggested that North Korea's government was in chaos. But no one is suggesting that now, Sneider says._

_"There's no evidence that anyone's defying his authority, and although there's a lot of talk about the military and the power of the military, it's very clearly subordinate to him," he says. "And I think that as long as he's around, and as long as he's able to exercise power, then he can control this process."_

Mulder sighed and turned off the radio. It was one, which mean that the game would be on in 8 minutes. He turned on the tv to the right channel, cranked the volume and made his way back to the kitchen. There may only have been 1298 days until Colonization, but dinner was in five hours. Worrying could wait until then. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen or read transcripts here:  
> airbus  
> https://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=104813691  
> Kim jong un  
> https://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=104835106  
> Date stamps are 2 hours ahead of Roswell, as Roswell is Mountain Time and NPR airs on Eastern Standard time. So Mulder is listening to the report on North Korea live. I did a lot a research and I love NPR please feel free to be excited that everything is accurate down to the actual time of listening. 
> 
> Mulder’s baseball game: https://www.baseball-reference.com/boxes/NYA/NYA200906020.shtml  
> https://rapidcityjournal.com/news/local/government-selling-acres-of-unused-missle-launch-sites/article_cebf127d-40dc-5350-b91f-d2a0eb6ac3a6.html


	5. Same Day Art and Anthropology Building, Eastern New Mexico University, Portales, New Mexico

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late again. I guess posting on Tuesday doesn't agree with me. These are...exceptional times and I've been trying to figure out how I will indefinitely teach 175 ish high schoolers from behind a computer screen. 
> 
> Next chapter will show up sometime next week, for anyone who may actually be reading this.

**Same Day Art and Anthropology Building, Eastern New Mexico University, Portales, New Mexico**

Scully was finishing some paperwork, the final element of her day before the hour and a half drive back to their new home in Roswell, when her supervisor came into the room. Nervous, especially with her notes lying open on the desk, Scully shuffled the papers in her hand. 

“Xander. Can I help you?” 

“Dana!” he said warmly. “I was just looking for you. I was reading over that report you submitted about the student research.” Though he ended the sentence, Scully still felt as though something was going unsaid. 

“I sense a ‘but’ in there, Xander,” she fished, surreptitiously continuing to pack, eyeing her notes anxiously. 

“Well, the board is still unsure. You know how people feel about bees these days,” he replied, offhand, like he was trying to downplay his statement. Scully kept her reaction as neutral as possible, nodding genially.

“Yes, Xander, I’m well aware. That doesn’t change anything about my research. And that’s all it is: research, so I don’t see why the board has anything to worry about. It’s numbers and graphs and observations. Is there a problem with that, Xander?” 

He looked closely at his fingernails. “No, no. No problem. But when you start looking for sponsors for the post-research phase, we might have-”

“It’s a non-issue. I already have a sponsor lined up.” She cut him off. _Please don’t ask me who._

“Oh,” Xander actually seemed surprised. “Well, if that’s the case, I suppose we really don’t have anything to worry about! I’ll report that to the board. Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“My sponsor wishes to remain anonymous. And they are particularly invested in the results of the project,” she hedged, silently praying. Years of playing the game was the only thing keeping her voice calm. 

“Hmm,” Xander looked thoughtful. “Well, I hope your sponsor understands that the University reserves certain rights regarding the research done by our employees?” 

Scully smiled flawlessly. “Yes. Absolutely. It was a stipulation of mine.” 

“Excellent.” He softened, reassured. “How are the students doing?” 

“Just fine. Everything is really working out well here. I’m very, very glad you were able to accommodate me here as well as in the Forensic Anthro department.” 

“Our pleasure. It’s so nice to see some real research being done here for a change. We’re the only public university in the state that offers the research element and without you and your students, I’m afraid we’d maybe have to cut back on allocated funding this year. _We_ should be thanking _you_ , Dana.” He smiled, genuinely, and nodded. “Well, I’m sure you’re more than ready to get out of here today. How’s the husband?” 

Scully used his words as an opportunity to grab the notes, stuffing them into her tote with relief. “Anthony’s great. It’s nice coming home to dinner ready made every night. But then, I’ve never been much of a cook.”

“And your husband is?” 

She shrugged and allowed herself a smile. “He’s learned over the years. We both have.”

“Lucky lady. Well. I won’t keep you longer. Have a nice night, Dana.” 

“You too, Xander.”

Scully started off down the hall towards the stairs, her heart pounding. It wasn’t until she was in the car, ignition started, hands ten and two on the wheel that she finally breathed her sigh of relief. Letting her forehead fall to rest between her hands on the cool leather, she took a few shaky breaths. 

What she was doing was dangerous. Dangerous, but necessary. 

Sitting back up, she put the car in drive and made for the open road. 

When she and Mulder had finally agreed to leave Virginia for New Mexico and start the arduous task of preparing for Armageddon, she’d agreed to begin working on an angle to fight the virus that was inevitably the first step to total world domination. With bee blight on the rise and many scientists interested in looking at ways of preserving them, Scully had decided that was where she would start, considering the likelihood that they’d still be used as the carriers. But misallocating her funding, falsifying her research parameters, and managing the students while she actually _did_ the research could be nerve wracking more days than not. 

But it was necessary, she constantly reminded herself. Her work was the first line of defense against what was coming. The Syndicate may have been using the alien technology to front their own global takeover, but all they’d done was advance the Colonists plans and provide her with a place to start. 

They’d brainstormed for days the variety of ways they might be able to figure out a solution, including taking samples of their own blood and cells for analysis to see if there was anything salvagable from her unfortunate ordeal with the bee or his trip to Russia with Krycek, among other things, though that was more of a side project, a precautionary element than anything else, just in case they were unable to get their hands on anything…more substantial.

In the end, though, it always came back to Purity.

Getting it hadn’t been her job; that was Mulder’s. At first they’d been unsure where to look for it, what to do to find it, in whatever incarnation it still existed. But Mulder had his sources. He’d done the job admirably and efficiently, but it had still terrified her. He’d promised he wouldn’t leave, but then, before they could even move, he was gone, the news having come through the grapevine about a potential hit. The hitch? It was traveling. One month to pinpoint a potential location, and one week to get it. Pretty near impossible.

By that time, she’d finished selling their old house and had everything put into storage under a pseudonym. Then began the exhausting drive to New Mexico, changing her car halfway through the journey, paying cash for the new vehicle and all gas along the way, driving through the night and buying the house in New Mexico upon her arrival. Three days later, Mulder showed up with their things in a trailer, a black currier box secured in the passenger seat next to him. Only when she went to meet him at the trailer’s cab did she realize he was handcuffed to it. 

_“Special delivery,”_ he’d said, holding it out to her. _“And I’m not just talking about the box.”_

She’d thrown her arms around him as best as she could and kissed him soundly. 

In the two months that had followed, they’d begun to get things set up. Jobs were the priority and, while Scully hadn’t had much difficulty creating a research proposal which she’d been able to start in the latter months of the Spring semester at Southeastern, Mulder had to wait to begin on the Roswell campus until Summer classes started, though he’d made himself useful as a transitional substitute for a different professor in the meantime. By the start of Summer classes, he was already well known with the students. They’d made it work. 

The box and its contents had been transferred to several phials for safekeeping and ease of access, but they kept the majority of its contents in a specially designed mini-facility they’d set up inside of a storage unit (done anonymously and paid for in cash) three towns away. Almost immediately after their arrival, she’d begun her work, and almost every day she felt her heart leap. She saw shadows everywhere. Laughing ruefully, Scully thought to herself that she was just as bad as Mulder, but she knew that it was true that they couldn’t be too careful. All of the work that her students did was truly assisting her real goal while also fulfilling the goals of the proposal that the University had accepted from her (and that had been its own terror, that she might not be accepted at all). The fine balance between the two was rocky at best but she’d made some headway.

The bees that they were borrowing for the study from several beekeepers in the regional southwest were systematically checked for any atypical attributes by her students. Those with the elements they’d been instructed to isolate were then “further tested” for a host of different things, all in the pursuit of understanding why the populations were diminishing _en mass_. Behind the scenes, she took the further steps, identifying the markers for the virus in those bees found to be carriers of atypical attributes and comparing them against the purity control sample Mulder had stolen. Further yet, they were then tested against her own cells, to see if she could find anything in common, and yet again against Mulder’s, as well as blood from a blood bank in Nebraska that Mulder had…artfully absconded with at her request. It was a long and difficult process, yes, but a necessary one.

A risky one. 

If she was discovered, Scully and Mulder both knew that would be the end of it. Any professional credibility Scully had under their established aliases would be lost and she’d never find legal means of supporting her research again and any hope they had would disappear along with it. At first, Mulder had been more than a little nervous. That first night, the night before she left, he’d held her close to him, face pressed into her hair, begging her to be careful, suggesting that there were still other ways, still other options, that she didn’t have to go.

That he didn’t want her to go.

She never turned around, but she knew by the way he was shaking that he was crying. In the morning, when she’d left, she hadn’t even had to wake him; his eyes were already open, watching her soulfully in the green gleam of the alarm clock. Slowly, she’d leaned in and kissed him on the temple, and then again on the lips. Then they’d gotten up and made breakfast, and said not so much as a word to one another until she left.

Only then, did he say _“I love you.”_

And that had been that.

Pushing away the memory, Scully put the vehicle in drive and left the lot. Her mindless drive through traffic went fast enough as she contemplated the clouded darkness of the future, reminding herself over and over that she’d _chosen_ to go back to it. Chosen that endless stare-down. Chosen the subterfuge and the secrets. Chosen to fight back once again. 

When she pulled into the garage, she took a deep breath before leaving the vehicle, grabbed her tote and summoned all her willpower. She was home, another day over, another day closer. Closer to a breakthrough, closer to…

She shook the thought from her head, opening the door. The scent of dinner was heavenly as she removed her shoes and laid her work things aside on the bench in the back hall. She couldn’t see Mulder in the kitchen, but the table was set. A peek into his office didn’t reveal him either. The living room then. 

“Mulder?” she asked aloud. “I’m home.” 

Arms encircled her from behind. “Hi honey,” he said, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek as he held her tight. 

“Hey. You have a good day?” She turned in his embrace, which hadn’t lessened, placing her hands on his chest. He’d been more physical about their relationship since he’d gotten back, touching her in small ways almost constantly; a caress to her cheek while walking to the park, kisses to the temple when he dropped her off at her book club on his way to basketball, simple lingering touches in the security of their home. 

“Fine I suppose.” He shrugged, and in that instant, she could have sworn he was sixteen years younger again, looking at her with wide eyes out from behind his old, unreasonably attractive glasses. These were different frames, of course, but in the moment, it felt the same. She noted the cadence of his voice, the low tone.

“You were listening to the news again, weren’t you?” 

“Well someone’s got to Scully,” he replied as he pulled away, ostensibly to get the milk from the fridge, but it felt more significant than that and she bristled momentarily. 

“Tell me about it?” She stepped forward, running her hand down his arm, resting her grip at the crook of his elbow gently, reassuringly. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t turn towards her either. She counted it as a win. 

“They started finding debris from the missing plane. Kim Jong Un was named successor in North Korea. Who needs a conspiracy when you’ve got dictator nepotism and 228 dead travelers?” A note disgust tinted his statement and Scully bit back an acerbic comment. Just months ago they’d been in a far worse place than this. _Meet halfway_ , she reminded herself, thinking back on the agreement they’d made the night they’d decided to move. 

_No matter what, we’ll always meet each other halfway. We’ll both have our bad days. We need to be there for each other if we’re going to do this._

“We are making a difference, Mulder.” She squeezed his arm as she spoke, and he tensed before relaxing beneath her touch.

 _And be honest_.

Sucking in a deep breath, she continued. “I feel like there was a close call today at work, but I think I’m being paranoid. We’ve made some small breakthroughs. It’s progress, and I’ve brought copies of everything home for safe keeping. We’ll have to make a trip to the storage unit tomorrow. Now, tell me about the game.” It was almost a normal conversation. Almost. She was pleasantly surprised to find that she didn’t even have to force a smile. 

As he poured the milk, he filled her in. “Yankee’s won. 12 runs. 13 hits. 7 in the fourth inning alone. Burnett was pitching. And Jetter was in really good form but it was Matsui who was really having a great day. Eight homers off Derek Holland, 4th inning, 2 on base , 2 outs to center field and right field.” 

“Sounds like fun,” she said and found that she even meant it. He looked up suddenly, setting the milk down and looked at her peculiarly. “Mulder? What is it?”

“I love you.” There was no hesitation between her question and his answer. “You don’t have to do this. As long as we’re together, that’s all that matters. You don’t have to do this, Dana.” 

Tears pricked at her eyes, the memories that had flooded back earlier threatening to spill past the threshold of here self control, but she held back. “No. I do. We do. I love you too, Fox. And you were right. We need this. Not just to save the world. We need this for us. For closure.” She stepped closer to him again, pressing a hand to his cheek. “If there is any chance that we can stop Colonization, I want to take it. And if there’s...if there is a chance that we can find…”

“William,” he finished for her softly, looking right at her, their eyes locking together in one eternally unwavering moment. 

“If there is any chance for us to see our son again, I want it. I want it more than anything. I want us to have what we deserve. Our family.” Scully shuddered a sigh of emotion and pressed her face into his chest. Beneath her head, he was warm and solid, and it felt good to rest against him, immovable and strong as a wall of stone, holding back the tide. His arms came around her once more and they swayed together for a few moments, silent. 

“We’ll find him, Scully. We’ll find William. We’ll be a family. I have to believe that it’s possible. I have to believe it,” he murmured into her hair, just loud enough for her to hear.

“I believe,” Scully said, emphatically, almost zealously. “I believe.” 

And she did.

They held each other there, tightly, swaying in mutual embrace for long, interminable minutes.

Dinner could wait. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mulder’s baseball game: https://www.baseball-reference.com/boxes/NYA/NYA200906020.shtml


	6. Wednesday, May 19th, 2010 The ‘Blake’ Home, Roswell, New Mexico

**Wednesday, May 19 th, 2010 The ‘Blake’ Home, Roswell, New Mexico**

She was running, breaths coming hard and swift, feet hitting the ground with such force that it reverberated jarringly up through her legs, her pounding heart matching the pounding in her head. Running. To or from, or both, she wasn’t sure. The shadow was growing, but it came at all angles, filtering out the lights until the darkness engulfed her completely and she couldn’t see the place where her feet connected with the pavement. 

Running. 

The faint buzzing in her head from the rhythmic ache was growing louder, a screaming siren blaring at her temples. Then, as she ran aimlessly in the dark, the pitch of the road came closer, inclining into a hill and a piercing white light blazed up over the horizon, blinding her as surely as the darkness had. She threw her arms up to protect her eyes, and felt herself lose balance, falling back but she didn’t make harsh contact with pavement. Instead, her stomach dropped when the falling sped up, blowing her hair into her face, whipping red marks against her cheeks, and she went on falling, the light still blinding her from above as the endless darkness below consumed her.

In the center of the corona of light, a figure, its arm outstretched, was descending - not falling - towards her, and she blinked against the pain of the overwhelming glow, weakly putting out her own arm, reaching in desperation back, praying and begging silently that her fingers would find purchase in the warmth of a hand grasping hers-

Scully sat up suddenly in bed, sheets falling to her waist. She was sweating profusely and her hair was stuck awkwardly to her neck. It was black in the bedroom; only the eerie green glow of the alarm clock gave form and shadow to shapeless things in the night. Consciously attempting to slow her breathing, Scully reached a hand out to the place beside her where Mulder usually lay, seeking the comfort of his solid form. She knew he wasn’t there, but that didn’t stop her. Tense fingers gripped the sheets as she imagined the familiar texture of one of his t-shirts, pretended that the mattress beneath them was flesh, warm and inviting. In the dark it was easy to create him, to feel the weight of his presence, the adjustment of the bed as he would shift himself onto his elbows, to hear him breathe her name in sleep rasped tones, the texture of his large palm fit itself onto her slender shoulder, rubbing soothing circles before sitting up and pulling her weightless form into his familiar embrace, arms and chest cocooning her against the flashes of dream memory that left her shaking like a leaf. 

_Dana_. 

She chose to hear him say her first name. Rarely over the years had they used their given names with each other, and each time (save the first, when they were discussing stakeouts and liverwurst, ice teas and root beer when she used his given name for the first time and he’d laughed it off. _Thus, Mulder and Scully were born,_ she mused.) it felt weighty, like signing a legal document. It meant something, that they would take the time to use _Dana_ or _Fox_. It was significant, a mood altering word, their secret signal for one another that the words spoken would be important beyond their literal meanings. There was trust, honesty, unconditional love and a little bit of discomfort in those moments of acknowledgement, that something serious beyond their usual was to be discussed. Shorthand for “take my heart, but handle with care”. 

So she chose _Dana._

 _Dana._ Her arms tingled where his phantom hands rested, and she could almost feel the weight of his cheek against the side of her head. _Honey, what’s wrong?_

“I had a dream, Fox.” She said aloud to the empty quiet. “I was running and the darkness was surrounding me, but on the horizon there was this light, like a sunrise, but too bright, and then I was falling, falling, the darkness swallowing me up, but there was a figure in the light, reaching for me and I reached back.”

_Sounds like you were up too late watching that Sistine Chapel documentary. Maybe it’s symbolic._

“Maybe. I don’t know. Dreams are just the random neural firings and memory fragments meant to make sense of your day. Like filing away all the papers you had scattered on your desk before going home for the night.”

_True. But they also capture your fears. There’s a reason psychologists encourage keeping dream journals during stressful times. Sleep is also your brain's way of making sense of things that you can’t in waking, and answering questions that you’ve been asking subconsciously. Some dreams even help make sense of fears._

“So, what you’re implying is that I’m afraid of falling.” 

_Maybe. Depends on what falling means to you, literally, symbolically, metaphysically._

“It’s definitely stress. Each day I feel this deadline creeping up on me and I wonder ‘Am I doing enough?’ But how can it ever be enough? How can this fight be quantified? Before, when we weren’t doing anything, I didn’t feel this, even though I knew. So why now? Why now?” 

_You’re running against the clock now. You decided to care, you’ve got a stake in the game. That makes all the difference in the world._

“I feel like it’s coming at me from all angles. If I’m not stressing about the success of the research, I’m stressing about hiding the real research from the University, and when I’m not stressing about that I’m wondering if the Shadow Government knows what we’re up to, and if they’ll come for us, and if they don’t, if that’s because they already know that what we’re doing is futile and they just don’t care enough to stop us! And when I’m not stressed out about that, I’m thinking about William, and I’m thinking about my decision, and, if we’re all going to die anyways, what good did giving him up do us, when we could have spent the last years of Earth’s existence happy and together as a family? And maybe my guilt about giving him up wouldn’t be eating away at me and then, at least, I wouldn’t wonder if you secretly hate me.” 

_I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. You made the choice you had to make. They don’t say that hindsight is twenty-twenty for nothing. You couldn’t have known where we’d end up. I wasn’t there. And he was in danger and you had to make the best decision for him. As a responsible parent, it was your job to take care of him, and you did that in the only way you knew how. You hid him, even from us, to protect him. I have to believe that there’s still a chance. Otherwise, we might as well just lay down and die. There is always a future to fight for. And even if everything we do comes to naught, we can die knowing that we did our best, even with the odds against us. That even though we wavered, we never gave up trying. And that will have made it all worthwhile._

She could almost feel the tightening of his arms around her, his chest a solid wall against her back, holding her up. “How do you know?” she asked, her voice a paper thin, wavering thing, so fragile it could have been lost in the slightest sound. 

_I don’t. But I have faith._

She brought one shaking hand to her throat where the delicate cross rested. “If you can have the strength to have faith, then I can have the strength to believe.” Scully bit her lower lip and pressed her eyes shut, willing the hot tears away. “I believe. I believe. I believe.” 

Her imaginary Mulder pulled her back down with him, keeping her enfolded between his arms, and rested his head beside her on the pillow. She imagined that it was him pulling the covers back over her, surrounding her in warmth and comfort and reassurance as she murmured the mantra, over and over as if willing it to be true. 

“I believe.” 

Eventually, Scully’s eyes fluttered shut and her breathing evened as she imagined feeling his heart beating strong and steady against her back and his free hand threading through her hair.


	7. Same Time Super 8 Motel, Southern Kansas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ha ahhhh i keep forgetting to update. sorry. I swear it's finished. All 40k of it. I just forget. A lot.

**Same Time Super 8 Motel, Southern Kansas**

Miles away, Mulder lay awake, with eyes closed, wishing that he was physically there beside her and wondering if she knew that she hadn’t imagined everything, wondering if he was making the same mistakes over and over again. 

Insomnia hadn’t plagued him as badly as it had for most of his life after he and Scully began their relationship. Whereas many people found it disconcerting and disruptive to sleep with another person in bed, Mulder had finally discovered what it was to sleep peacefully, with Scully curled up against his chest, his nose resting in her hair and his arms holding her tightly to him. The security he felt with her was unlike any he’d ever known, so sleeping alone always left him bereft. When he’d gone to get the purity samples, he’d slept very little and when he managed it, it had always been fitful, shallow sleep. Gone again, rallying comrades, setting up secret caches while on the break before summer classes, he’d experienced much of the same. But the experience he’d just shared with Scully was new. He’d been honing the skills. Two years on and he’d gotten much better at controlling them. There had been one terrifying incident when a student found his girlfriend dead in her dorm, the emotional resonance of which had almost sent him catatonic. His students had called the campus police as well as, somehow, Scully and then proceeded to follow him to the Campus health center where Scully found them in the waiting room, anxiously loitering in hopes of news. After that, he’d doubled down on learning to control it, and started the first tentative wave of experiments into the true capacity of his abilities. It was still a work in progress, and the evening's events illustrated that. He’d awoken, impossibly feeling the acuteness of her distress across hundreds of miles and several state lines. The pounding of her heart touched his senses and he _reached_ for her. And there she was. 

He didn’t know how he’d done it, much less how to replicate it. Telling her terrified him. Would she have said everything she had if she knew he’d actually been listening? It was a stupid thought and he dismissed it immediately, the old insecurities only compounded by distance. They’d come so far since the case in ‘08, since being unable to even say William’s name in each other’s presence. Since they’d let old wounds fester rather than be emotionally vulnerable with one another. Those days felt light years away from even where they’d been when they first settled in Roswell. 

But that didn’t mean that the fear was gone. 

Mulder rolled to face the nightstand, watching the place where his new burner phone lay charging in the dim light of its screen. He shook his head and clenched his teeth, rolling onto his back in a physical effort to put distance between himself and the temptation to call her, to bare his soul and tell her everything. The burner phone was supposed to be for emergencies only. No calls, no email, no contact until he’d done what he needed to do. 

The ceiling above him was pockmarked with paint sand. The fire alarm blinked. The curtain drifted a bit in the breeze from the open window.

He sat abruptly, moving to the small desk. By only the streetlight he ruffled through the brochures and found a pen and notepad. 

_Dearest Dana,_

_As of writing this, today is William’s birthday. Nine. The age of little league. I feel empty. Hollow. I think you must feel that way, too. It’s his birthday and you and I aren’t together. Another birthday without him. I can’t help but think that perhaps your dream has something to do with this profound sense of loss inside me. I was there, Dana, with you, but moments ago. I could almost feel you when you reached for me, when you rested your head against my chest. I spoke with you. I did. Even from miles away I am attuned to you. My heart aches to hold you now, to feel your breath on my cheek and know that you are okay. I can’t sleep without you. I never can. Not well at least._

_I don’t know what this newest ability means. I don’t know how it happened, or how to make it happen again. Maybe it is because we are closer than any two human beings have a right to be. Maybe it is because your soul was calling to mine. In my deepest heart, I believe that we are connected, that there is a reason - maybe fate, maybe design, maybe something else - that we two have weathered this impossible road together. That even when we are farthest apart physically, we are still close in spirit. I am tethered to you eternally, if only through my will alone that it be so. I love you. It is you who gives me my faith, you who are the reason I continue to fight. You never gave up on me, even in my lowest moments and I owe it to you to see that your decision, your impossibly difficult choice, is honoured by my actions. If I do not do this now, then I will have never deserved you, or our son, much less your forgiveness for my years of rash impetuousness, for my absence, for my obstinance and my risk taking. For my unwavering devotion to this fruitless crusade._

_I wasn’t there for you then. You chose to give him up to keep him safe. And as difficult as it has been for us both, for as much stress and personal risk as I have asked you to take on in your current mission, I owe it to you to honor that choice by making sure that I have done everything I can to make sure that he is safe from the threats we exposed so long ago, that he might continue to live ignorant to the knowledge of the coming invasion, that he might have normalcy and bliss and the best chance to thrive and truly live to the fullest, even if it is without us. Each moment I am away, I remind myself of this, and rededicate myself to that end. A more honourable quest than I ever claimed before. It is all that keeps me from returning to you, from falling hopeless into your arms and sobbing myself empty, pondering that which might have been. What my crusade ensured we could never have._

_It is all that keeps me from my darkest thoughts._

_You told me you couldn’t look into the darkness again. In your dream, you were looking into the light. Maybe that’s the key. The darkness is behind us, creeping steadily forward, and it often feels inescapable, but that light, and the hand reaching to you, that’s the thing you have to hold on to. You aren’t alone. And the light is in front of you. We aren’t staring down the darkness, we’re reaching for the light._

_I wonder, if you had turned your head as you fell, if you might have seen me there beside you, reaching too._

_You are forever in my thoughts and my heart. I carry you with me, each step of the way._

_I love you._

_Mulder_

The first dregs of daylight were peeking in through the window. As he folded the paper, he imagined her receiving it, tearing open the envelope, her fingers irreverent with the unlabeled letter. The shock when she read about the dream. 

He packed, stuffed the letter in his inner jacket pocket and headed out for the Denny’s he’d seen when he got off the freeway. At half past five in the morning, it was hardly packed, save a few, tired hung heads of the long distance truckers. Mulder sat down heavily at the booth, looking out of the window, listless. A waitress cleared her throat, startling him from his thoughts. 

“Coffee, please. Black. And a hashbrown, with applesauce.” 

“You’re a long ways away, aren’t you?” 

He gave a wry smile and a small nod. She gave him a knowing look in return and left to put in his order. When she returned with the pot of coffee, he held up the mug for her to fill it. 

“You away from home on business?” 

“Yep.” 

“Family?” 

“Yes,” He answered without hesitation. 

“Wife?” 

“Yes.” It wasn’t a lie, considering that they’d lived together long enough to be common law, that they were finally at a place where they introduced themselves as a couple. 

“Kids?” 

Though the question came innocently enough, he hesitated, and the pain must have been written all over his face. 

“Coffee’s on the house.” She had an overtly sympathetic quality to her voice that made him inwardly cringe, and he understood why Scully never corrected people who told her she couldn’t understand, because she wasn’t a mother. The double standard leveled against her was ridiculous and unfair.

“Thanks.”

He ate his applesauce drenched hashbrowns with far less than his usual gusto, and left a generous tip for the waitress. Barely a minute’s drive later he was at the Post Office, buying an envelope and stamp, printing their address onto the letter and mailing it off. 

The moment it left his hand, he wondered if it was selfish. She wouldn’t be able to respond, would be left in shock and awe at its contents, maybe even unsettled and they wouldn’t even be able to talk it over. They’d set three weeks as the shortest amount of time and two months as the absolute longest he would be gone before returning, both knowing that there was every possibility he wouldn’t be back at all. That they could find him, discover what he was planning and take him out of the equation. Would that final letter be a painful reminder of things they’d never had a chance to discuss because of him, or would it bring her comfort if he never returned? The fear welled up in him, despite the rational thoughts that were already racing to his comfort. It was too late to question the morality of what he’d done anyways. The letter was sent and Scully would receive it whether he came back or not. 

And they would discuss the things he’d written when and if there was the opportunity to do so in the future. Mulder started the car with renewed purpose and headed towards the interstate as the sun rose continuously higher into the sky. 

He passed an empty schoolyard, and then a less empty baseball diamond. A pang went through his heart as he watched a team of little leaguers scrambling around the field. Before he knew it, he had already pulled over, parked and was walking single-mindedly towards the bleachers, eyes scanning for the child from his dreams, with reddish brown hair and bright blue eyes and a smile as wide and effortless as the expanse of the summer sky. 

The bleachers were cold and a bit damp, but that didn’t bother Mulder. The early morning light cut into his vision as the young boy pitched and the crack of the ball off the hitter’s bat sent him deep into a daydream, the boy he envisioned laughing as he ran the bases. Cheering brought him out of it, back to reality and he quickly wiped the tears from his cheeks and clapped for the elated child as he rounded second before backtracking safely to the base.


	8. Thursday, May 20th, 2010 Roswell, New Mexico

**Thursday, May 20 th, 2010 Roswell, New Mexico**

The park wasn't crowded as Scully made her unhurried way through the just barely blossoming rows of annuals, among them little posies, petunias, and coleus, as well as large, leafy ninebark with its pink and white blooms, and other assorted shrubbery. Before Mulder had left, they’d talked about the upcoming date. That was a huge step for them, actually verbally discussing, with proper nouns, the day that was William’s Birthday. It was unavoidable that Mulder be gone when it came around, despite both their desires. But Scully promised she’d see through their plans, even if only by herself. She’d carried on without him before, and could do so once again, but it hurt when she randomly thought that she understood how her own mother felt a bit better; Mulder wasn’t in the Navy, but it was his duty all the same, if only self-sworn and enforced, to go and put in motion the cogs of their plan. And it was truly _their_ plan. Each piece they’d discussed together, outlined together. Neither one had more influence or desire than the other; they were acting as a united whole. She knew, barring anything unforeseen, exactly where he’d be and when, even if they couldn’t have any contact. And when they made it to May 20th in their meticulous planning of the calendar, they’d taken the time to discuss their plans for that. 

“I made you a promise, Mulder. I’m keeping it,” she murmured as she sat down on the bench alone in the park. “I am here, enjoying the day. And later, I will buy myself an ice cream from a truck and go to a kid’s movie at the theatre. And when I’m at home, I will look at the photo album and if I cry that’s okay.” Her voice cracked, thick with emotion. “And I will know that somewhere, you’re spending this day thinking about William, too. And wishing we could all be together. And if I get too sad, I’ll call my mother,” she recited her promises in rote order, strangely mechanical for the beautiful garden in which she was sitting.

Even the day was gorgeous, and that too was a betrayal in its own. Warm and inviting, the late May sunshine felt refreshing against her pale skin. She closed her eyes to it, encouraging it to soak into her. The contrast of a cool breeze startled Scully a bit and she opened her eyes again to see two children coast past on bicycles, laughing and smiling. 

Unconsciously, she pressed her lips together tightly, but the tears fell despite herself. “Ugh, Dana, you’re ridiculous,” she muttered, swiping her hand forcefully across her face and stood from the bench to continue her aimless walk. Whether from some sense of self depreciation or morbid curiosity, she followed the path the children had taken, listening to the lingering sounds of their calling and bell trilling carried on the soft wind, imagining that they belonged to the child that Mulder once described from his dreams, sunlight catching off the spoke of a bike wheel sending a flare of light into her vision. Scully’s breath caught and for a moment she could have sworn she saw him there, the son she’d last seen as a ten month old baby, grown into a lanky, sun bronzed child, smile impish and eyes sparkling. 

“God Mulder, I wish you could see this,” she said in awe as the vision continued and faded when the glare dissipated and the cool morning returned, leaving her listless once again. 

She walked to a corner bakery and ate a small breakfast consisting of a Danish and cranberry juice (how her younger self would have cringed!), watching the growing numbers of people go by: couples, young and old, families with children, kids in small groups, teens gossiping and rolling past on skateboards and bikes (Gone, she thought, were the days of in-line skates.) going wherever she wasn’t, so it seemed. 

Sighing heavily, Scully paid and got up to walk again. Her watch read 9:45. She wound her way around town, and off of Main Street until she found herself at a church she sometimes attended and walked in through the large double doors of the Hispanic styled St. John’s. 

She entered, quiet and reverent, crossing herself with holy water as she did. As she went to kneel at the back Scully realized that a baptism was being held privately, taking her aback, both for her unintentional intrusion, as well as the flood of memories the scene dredged up. There would be no peace for her, it seemed, as she recalled the white outfit in which she’d dressed her son.

_(“What name have you given your child?”_

_“William Fox Scully.”)_

The baptism ended and the bells chimed the hour and she sat instead of knelt, eyes open, no particular prayer in her mind. The priest didn’t notice her and she didn’t seek him out. The church proper was empty and Scully was alone. 

Unlike in that Buddhist temple so long ago, though she spoke to God, God did not, in that moment, speak back.

After a few minutes of oppressive silence, she shook her head, stood and left the pew, genuflecting on her way out and crossing herself again with holy water at the door.

No peace. 

She walked the fifteen minutes back to her car, stopping occasionally at storefronts, even eventually finding a book - she owned the author’s other work – that interested her. Once back inside the car, her purchase stashed away in the glove compartment, Scully checked her watch again. 10:30. Agonizingly, the day inched onwards. But she had made a promise. The Anderson Museum of Contemporary Art wasn’t so far away, and the decision to go wasn’t a difficult one for Scully. A few hours spent somewhere where she could actually focus on something rather than find her mind wandering back always to their absent son was most definitely in order. 

Time flew by as she took in the art collection, stopped for a bite of lunch at a nearby cafe. The theatre wasn’t far away, and even though it was one of the things that she’d suggested she could do, it was also the one she’d been dreading the whole day. Only one children’s film was showing - _How to Train Your Dragon_ , which was already on its last legs of theatre release, having been out a month and a half already. Alone in the empty theatre, Scully cried unapologetically as the young boy sought to save his world and his new friend.

No peace.

Once her sobs subsided and her eyes were dry, Scully left the theatre and bought herself an ice cream -a _real_ ice cream, her younger self be even further damned - from a truck, licking at it while she leaned against her car, thinking vaguely of simpler days. 

Later, at home, her dishes piled in the sink, the lights still on in the kitchen, she sat on her side of the couch, the photo album open in her lap, tears sliding down her cheeks. They were silent tears this time, not the choking, hitching weeping she’d done in the dark anonymity of the theatre. Solemnly they splattered the plastic over the pages, covering sweet baby faces with the evidence of her sadness. Nothing physical remained. Not even a small tuft of hair was tucked between photographs. Only the black and white ink prints of his tiny feet were evidence that William existed in more than a photograph. 

Scully closed the album and lay it reverently on the coffee table. Then, heart heavy and soul lonely, she turned out the lights and went to bed, leaving the dishes unwashed.

She didn’t call her mother. 

“I’m fine,” she said to herself, voice barely a shaking whisper, her hand resting again in the place where Mulder’s chest ought to have been. “I’m fine.” 


	9. Tuesday, June 1st, 2010 New Orleans, Louisiana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just keep fucking forgetting. Sorry.

**Tuesday, June 1 st, 2010 New Orleans, Louisiana **

The overcast weather did little to stifle the unforgiving heat of June in New Orleans, but Monica Reyes was used to it. Even in a black blazer and slacks the heat didn't make her uncomfortable. No, if she was uncomfortable, that was due to the fact that she was being tailed by someone. Whoever it was wasn’t trying very hard to be inconspicuous. Well, it was either that or they were a pretty poor tail. Quickly, she ducked into an alleyway and waited. The tail didn’t seem to pass. She scrunched her nose; she’d been positive that-

A hand landed on her upper arm from behind and she jumped about a mile high, but made no sound, so shocked as she was. 

“Monica Reyes,” a familiar voice intoned lowly. 

“Jesus Christ! Mulder!” She whirled to face him and he put his hands out, gesturing for her to keep her voice down. Practically hyperventilating, she forced the words from her throat. “What the hell! What are you doing here?”

“We’re making preparations. If you’re willing to help-”

“Of course!” The words were out before she even realized she was saying them. Discerningly, she took him in. Much to her surprise, she found that he actually looked good, looked like he’d recently been getting into shape, the muscles in his arms and shoulders more defined than she’d seen from him previously. The look in his eyes was serious, but there seemed to be something more there than before. Something unnamable. 

“Good. I’m glad to hear it. I took the liberty of dropping off some hard copy files at your house in anticipation of your compliance. I buried them under your gardenias in a plastic bag last night. The digital files are on a USB that I put behind the framing of your back door. It’s just above the latch. You’ll need to screw off the board to get at it. Don’t try to get to them until a month and a week from today, and wait until Rebecca's not around.” He looked into her, almost, as if waiting for her to answer him in the affirmative, but she was too busy being overwhelmed, blinking owlishly. 

“What? You were at my house?” She shook her head in effort to clear it. “Wait, no, sorry, but _how do you know about Rebecca?”_

He blinked once, and that same undefinable quality shone brightly in his eyes, but he didn’t answer her. He almost looked…amused.

Almost.

“Can you do what I’ve asked, Monica?”

It was unnerving. Unsettling.

Inhuman.

Nervously, she nodded. “Yes.” 

“Good. Inside the files you’ll find plans for the future, timelines for when things need to happen, how long they ought to take, when they need to be done by. There’s also people for you to contact, things that you’ll need to acquire. After you read the plans, destroy the timelines, or recode them into your own planner in some way. You’re one of several people we’re putting into place and it is essential that you follow all the instructions as close to word for word as you can.” 

He was driven, sure, but he wasn’t entirely unlike the Mulder she’d met in the past, softening as soon as she’d agreed to the arrangement, and it put her a little more at ease. “Understood,” she replied, hoping that it came across as confident.

“Only Scully knows I’m here. I’ve made sure of it. You won’t be bothered. In the event that someone does come by, do whatever you have to to protect the information as well as yourself. If you have to throw me under the bus, that’s fine, but don’t let them get their hands on any of those files, please. This is it, Monica. This is the last stand. It’s everything we’ve got. And if we’re successful, it’ll save countless lives, yours included.” 

There was an earnestness to his demeanor, she decided, something that was far from the frantic she’d expected from him when she first realized it was him. Certainly his words painted him as paranoid, but his bearing was anything but. Serious, though restrained, hopeful even. 

“There’s hope yet, Agent Reyes.”

Surprised by how eerily similar his words were to her thoughts, Monica blinked rapidly and reasserted herself. “Thank you, Mulder. You can count on me.”

Then, much to her chagrin, he disarmed her utterly with a smile. “I know. It was good to see you, Monica. I’ll tell Scully you say hi when I get home.” 

“Thanks.” She hugged him then, pouring all the positive energy she could muster into the embrace. “Take care of yourself Mulder.” 

“I’ll try.” The wry look on his face was almost wistful, but it faded away after a moment and she wasn’t quite sure that it had been there at all. His gaze flickered upwards and his focus changed, growing remote and far away. “You can leave the alley now. Hopefully we’ll meet again someday. Until then, Agent Reyes.” He bid her farewell and turned back down the dark alley, leaving Monica more confused than ever. 

Bewildered, but filled with a strange sense of purpose and direction, Monica watched the empty space where he had disappeared.

“Goodbye Mulder. And good luck.” 


	10. Wednesday, June 2nd, 2010 Atlanta, Georgia

**Wednesday, June 2 nd, 2010 Atlanta, Georgia**

The rain was starting to come down heavily and John Doggett didn’t have an umbrella. “Shit!” he cursed, throwing up his hand, and bellowed for a taxi. Almost immediately, despite his usual luck, a cab pulled over and he rushed to get inside. “Chamblee, 3000 Flowers Road, South.” He hoped he didn’t come across too gruff, because the last time, his driver had purposefully taken the long way, leaving him with a larger bill than was deserved, and no time to argue over it. “Thanks,” he added, hoping to sooth any ruffled feathers.

Smoothing out his rough grasp on personability was still a work in progress.

A low chuckle came from the front of the cab, but the driver seemed amiable enough. “Sure thing,” he replied, and then grew silent, save for the incessant patter of the rain coming down on the roof.

Setting his briefcase aside on the seat, John ran his hands down his slacks, water sluicing off them in small rivulets. Soaked. Completely soaked. Groaning a bit, he looked out the window and furrowed his brow. “Strange shortcut we’re taking,” he said carefully, suddenly wary, and of more than just a larger taxi bill.

The pause was almost too long, and John was close to action when the response came smirkingly from the front seat.

“Well we can’t very well head to the Field Office for this conversation, Doggett.” The driver glanced into the rear view mirror and John saw the evidence reflected back at him. 

“Jesus! Mulder!” 

The cab pulled over under an overpass, and the harsh pound of the rain ceased mercifully. “Get in up front.” Mulder ordered. “It’ll be easier to talk.” 

Still in shock, it took another verbal prompting from Mulder before John found it within himself to move. In a moment, he had exited and reentered the vehicle, and buckled simultaneously with the new rev of the engine as it rumbled to life and ventured back out into the rain.

Doggett cleared his throat expectantly and Mulder finally acknowledged him again.

“Right. To business. I planted some things at your house. A packet of files is hidden in a plastic bag behind a loose brick in your sidewalk by the door. The digital copies are housed on a USB that I left in the knothole in your apple tree. Don’t look for them for a month and a week from now. They contain your part of the plans that Scully and I are setting in motion. I’ve already spoken with another contact who has agreed to complete the part requested of them.” 

John looked at Mulder, who glanced at him almost blandly between watching the road and the mirror, trying to assess his state of mind. The expression on his once rival’s face lacked any particular tells; it was generically blank and as monotonous as his tone of voice. 

“You’re dead serious, aren’t you?” John asked, disconcerted. “You’ve been to my house. You’ve left this shit. You’re really doing this.” 

“Yes.” 

“Alright, say I go along with this,” he posed. “What do I gotta do?”

Mulder stopped at a red light, and turned to face him. He seemed to be looking hard at something, because his forehead wrinkled a bit. John was about to tell him that the light had since turned green, but before he could, Mulder had already started forward, gaze not straying from John. Mulder seemed to have seen what he was looking for, because he turned his attention back towards the road and began to speak. 

“Inside the files you’ll find a precise timeline of events laid out for you that will coincide with everyone else involved. Stick to it as best as you can. Names and contact information will be inside as well for the people that you’ll be networking with. This only works if you follow the instructions exactly as written. Scully and I have been over them with a fine tooth comb. Once you know what you need to do, destroy the plans and the USB. If you agree to this, you’ll be getting a package, if we’re lucky, roughly three months from now. What's inside could save us all.” 

“Okay. But you still haven’t-” 

“No one is going to come looking for you because I’ve been here. This meeting is untraceable. I’m off the radar. I know that you don’t trust me, Agent Doggett, and that you never have, but if you ever cared for Dana, and if you love this planet and want to protect this People, you’ll have to take me at my word. I give you mine that if anyone comes for you, you can feel free to rat me out. In fact, if someone does come, if you’re burned, that’s exactly what I want you to do. It’s the only way to keep you totally safe. All I ask is that you don’t give up the information, keep the plan secret and protect the other players, Dana included. This is the best plan we’ve got and I need you with us on this if we’re going to save the world.” 

John wasn’t really shocked by what he was hearing. It was, in fact, much of what he’d come to expect of Mulder back when he’d had a much poorer opinion of the man. That wasn’t to say that he was ready to ask the guy for a drink at the pub or to catch a race by any means. He was calm and collected, hardly manic or aggressive.

“Dana says hi, by the way. She’s sorry she couldn’t come with me, but her work right now is essential to our future plans.” 

Mulder turned down a more familiar road, now obviously headed in the direction John had anticipated before he realized who was driving the taxi, towards the field office. The clandestine liaison was over. They rode in relative silence until they were about three blocks away when Mulder pulled over to the curb. 

“I can’t force you to do anything, Agent Doggett, but I need to know if you intend to go through with this or not, so I can plan accordingly.” 

“I’m guessing you don’t have a number so I can reach you at a later date?” John joked.

Mulder actually smiled at him. “You win a cigar!” he replied with false animation. 

John set his jaw. “I’ll do it. Maybe you’re not my favourite person, but I saw enough shit working the X-Files, and when someone like Dana believes you...well, I guess I want to believe too. You can count on me.” 

“Thank you, John.” The sincerity in Mulder’s voice was palpable. “Thank you. I hope someday we can meet again, after all this is over. Recount the good times.” 

“You got it. But don’t bring shit beer.” 

“I won’t.” 

John exited the cab without any fanfare and Mulder drove off without a second glance back, leaving John to wonder, dread settling in his gut, what it was that was coming. 


	11. Monday, June 14th, 2010 Roswell, New Mexico

**Monday, June 14 th, 2010 Roswell, New Mexico**

Scully exited the house just as the mailman pulled up. The sound of the truck was instantly recognizable, and she smiled without intention. As far back as she could recall, the sound of the mail truck had always brought her joy. Packages from her grandparents, letters from her father when he was shipped out; they all had the ability to turn her day around. It was a warm one, to be sure, the early morning sun soft on her skin. She’d chosen shorts and a light blouse for her trip to book club that day, feeling free from her usual business casual confines. She’d be back to work the next day, of course, but letting herself dress down was a luxury she rarely felt she could afford. The keys jingled on the ring as she locked up, and the mailman (Mulder affectionately called him ‘Mac’, though Scully knew his name was Dave) called out to her. 

“Hey Mrs. Blake, got a letter here for you that’s a bit late. Must have gotten stuck or passed over.”

She walked the short distance to the mailbox, greeting him cordially. “Thanks Dave. Wasn’t expecting anything though. Nice day isn’t it?” 

“Yeah, but it’ll be hotter’n hell in here soon enough. You know how it is.” 

“Sure do. Keep hydrated.” 

“Have a nice day.” 

As Dave drove off, Scully slid the letter under the cover of her book, _Our Bodies Our Shelves_ , which they were discussing that day, and promptly forgot about it. It was almost abnormal how normal her life felt. Greeting the mailman by name, walking through her neighbourhood to a book club she attended regularly, waving to the man who lived four houses down because he was on Mulder’s basketball team. It was positively unreal. In some terrifying way, she was starting to feel like an average American, excepting of course the fact that she wasn’t ‘Dana Blake’ but in fact Dana Scully, and that she was really a former FBI agent on the run from a global conspiracy and spent her days attempting to create a vaccine to combat the coming alien apocalypse. 

A child rode past on a skateboard. 

Scully shook off her gloomy thoughts, focusing instead on how lovely the day was. If it took all her willpower to push back the darkness, Scully found it would be infinitely easier if each and every day was as pleasant as that June morning. 

Fifteen minutes later, the Geller’s house came into view. Coming from the other direction down the sidewalk was Andrea Lane and her husband Trevor, who joined them whenever he was able. The group was made up of a variety of people, if mostly women. Lisa Geller was a stay at home mom; it used to sting to be around her, to listen to her talk, to view the life that Scully had so longed for through another’s eyes. But she’d grown a callous over her heart to the talk, and the group was all more than polite enough not to ask. Andrea worked second shift, and her husband only worked four days a week. The other members included a retired nurse, Julie Maybree, a retired teacher, Malcolm Dietrich, and three other stay at home moms, Carla Montoya, Alice Longfeather, and Paula Ramirez. Lisa always insisted upon hosting, though the group alternated in providing refreshments. All in all, it offered a spiritual lift for Scully with their daily lives and easy humour, just as did Basketball for Mulder. At first, she hadn’t been sure that she would stick with it, but it turned out to be something that she couldn’t hardly imagine her life without.

“Dana, hey!” Andrea and Trevor waved, and she reciprocated. “How’s it going? Still working on that bee research? 

“Oh yeah,” she smiled conversationally, pushing back the bubbling nervousness that almost always came up when discussing her work, even with the utterly unsuspecting. Paranoia was a hard thing to arrest. “I don’t expect that will be over for a while.” 

“And you said that it’s okay for us to eat honey, right?” 

Dana mentally rolled her eyes. For as nice as Andrea was, the young woman sometimes exasperated her. “Yes, more than alright. The more honey you buy, the better for the bees.” 

“Excellent. We just stocked up. Is Anthony back yet?” she asked as they’re paths finally coincided.

“No, he’s still away.” 

“You’re not going to remember what it was like with him around by the time he gets back!” Trevor joked. “Has it been a month yet?”

“A month and a day today.” She gave a wry smile. “It’s been a long time since we were apart for so long, you might be right.” A genuine laugh found its way out of her mouth, shocking her momentarily. 

“How long have you two been together again?” Andrea asked as they walked to the porch at the back of the house where they congregated in the summer months. 

“We’ve known each other since 1992. But we’ve been together since 2002, so eight years out of eighteen.” Putting that into words was almost startling to Scully. “It feels like it’s been a lifetime.”

Trevor nodded, which was ironic, as Andrea’s eyes bugged, but the conversation was overtaken by a few others in the room, and the topic was dropped. Smalltalk filled the few minutes before the rest of the group arrived and Scully felt the gloom finally fall away as she was drawn into discussion about the book. Two hours, one cup of coffee, a glass of cranberry juice and two doughnuts later, the group was cleaning up to go when Carla called to her. 

“Dana, is this yours? It was by your chair” 

For the second time that day, Scully took the letter in hand. “ Thanks. Dave gave it to me today, said it was late.”

“There’s no return address, but that’s definitely hand written. Junk?” 

Scully looked more closely at the envelope. “No,” she replied, cautious, her eyes lighting up. “It’s Anthony’s handwriting.” 

“Oh, love letter from the absentee hubby, hey?” Alice waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Say hi to him for me when he gets back. I’ve got to get to daycare to pick up Johnny.” 

A chorus of ‘bye’s rang out, including Scully’s softly distracted tone as she turned the letter over in her hand. She shook herself out of her reverie and replaced it inside the cover of the book. About half way home, a frustrated prickling at the back of her neck, Scully sat down on a sidewalk bench and pulled out the letter, ripping open the envelope with gusto. 

_Dearest Dana,_

_As of writing this, today is William’s birthday. Nine. The age of little league. I feel empty. Hollow. I think you must feel that way too. It’s his birthday and you and I aren’t together. Another birthday without him. I can’t help but think…_

Her eyes scanned the words, on alert from the moment she read her first name, heart clenching as his written thoughts ominously reminded her of the last time they had exchange letters (albeit digital) in such a manner. The cadence of his phrasing was similar then too, as he toiled under the burden of his loneliness. Her heart warmed to know that he’d truly been speaking with her, but the all familiar ache that rose at the mention of William threw her back into the depression she’d so adamantly been trying to outrun since that night and the subsequent day of celebration that she’d spent alone with only the ghosts of the past. 

Mentally, she counted. Twenty-six days the letter had spent lost in the mail. It was practically a miracle that it had made it at all. Some latent impulse led her to wonder the significance of receiving it when she did. Was there something special about today? Mulder, she knew, or rather didn’t know, was in the process of searching for Gibson Praise. The rogue element in their equation. Scully wasn’t sure where Mulder was, but their mutually agreed upon deadline for his return was closing quickly. 

She folded the letter, stuffing it back in the envelope, and kept walking. It was silly to think that there was a greater purpose in the letter’s late arrival. There was no rhyme or reason. Only a relatively normal postal mishap. Nothing more. 

Half a block from the house, Scully turned the corner and saw Mulder’s car parked in their driveway. 

When she reached the house, Scully ran in through the open garage door. 

“Typical,” she groused, fondly as she looked down. His bags were sitting in the back hall, his Yankee’s cap hanging on the hook, his shoes on the hall rug. The small touches that heralded his homecoming resonated with her more than she’d anticipated and she was still looking at the hat when Mulder came around the corner. 

“Hey you! Thought I heard that door. Have fun at book club?” he asked, as if he hadn’t been gone on an admittedly risky trip without any way for her to contact him in the interim. 

Scully threw her arms around his middle, pressing herself into him tightly. “You ass,” she muttered as his arms came around her, rubbing her back and holding her close to him. 

“Love you,” he intoned in response. She pulled back to look at him more carefully. His eyes were tired and he looked careworn, but otherwise alright. The small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes crinkled happily as he smiled lopsidedly and put a hand to the lock of hair and pushed it behind her ear. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Scully. How was it holding down the fort?” 

“To be honest? Lonely.” 

His hand caressed her cheek and he leaned down to press a tender kiss to the corner of her mouth and then pulled back. “ ‘One is the loneliest number, or so they say.’ It was pretty damn lonely out there without you for me too.” He waggled his brows, ridiculously. “Motel beds do not offer the same allure as they once did, Scully.” 

“It wasn’t the same without you.” She took in his shining eyes, sure her own were their perfect mirror. “Let’s get you settled back in. Is there anything still out in the car? You left the garage door open again.”

He chuckled. “I’ll take care of it Captain.” Mulder mock saluted her, smiling.

In twenty minutes, all of his things were back in the house, the car was pulled in, the garage door was down, and a load of laundry was in the wash. He flopped onto the couch with an exaggerated huff, propping his legs up on the coffee table, crossing them at the ankles.

“ ‘s good to be home, Scully. Really. I forgot how demanding constantly being on the move really is. Hell, if it took this much out of me this time around, think how bad it’ll be in another two years. I’m gettin’ old, Scully.” Mulder whined, but his eyes were sparkling. 

Scully set a glass of water on the end table before sitting down next to him. “You need to take those walks with me.” 

“I go running!”

“Walking is better for your joints and it helps keep your cardiovascular system healthy. Running primes your muscles, and you don’t have any problems there,” she replied pointedly, running her hand over his thigh coyly. Mulder let out a barking laugh. 

“Alright, alright, who am I to deny you? I’ll join you on your walks, but not today. Today I need to sleep for twenty years. Wake me up when the apocalypse is over.” He groaned dramatically, leaning back his head and closing his eyes. 

“Okay there Rip van Winkle. I can wake you up tomorrow morning, but you’re going to hate yourself if you fall asleep here on the couch. And it’s only eleven. Hungry for lunch yet?” 

He opened one eye. “Maybe.” 

“Liverwurst?” 

“And ice tea please?” 

“You got it.” She stood and went into the kitchen. “Tell me what happened. Were you successful?” From the counter, she could see his dark head resting on the cushion, his arms stretching up and out. 

“About as successful as we could have hoped. Monica and John are both on board, they’ll take care of Skinner, and he’ll take care of Marita. If we lose Marita, then we lose Marita.”

“And Gibson?” she asked tentatively. 

“It was a near thing. I thought I was going to have to come back without having made contact. I found him two days ago. Or rather, he found me. He’s damn good at hiding. Better even than before. You remember what it was like.” 

“And? Will he help us?” 

Mulder sighed and immediately Scully knew that it wasn’t going to be good news. 

“Gibson is…”He put his hands on his knees, pushing himself to standing and walked over to their breakfast bar, settling onto the stool heavily. “I got my first lead on him on the eighth. Spent the next couple days chasing my tail like an idiot. He’s powerful, Scully.” His tone was serious, almost dark. “I’m like an infant compared to him where my abilities are concerned. Finally, on Saturday, he showed himself. I was getting ready to leave. He was in the back of the car when I checked out of the motel. Scared me shitless. I didn’t even know he was there. And even when I was looking right at him, I couldn’t _sense_ him. Nothing. Like a black hole, Scully. Empty.” 

She put the second slice of bread on top of the sandwich, set the plate in front of him and settled in to eat her own.

“Thanks.” He took a bite, leaving a pause in their conversation like a held breath. He took a drink of the ice tea before he continued. “He’s changed, Scully.” A weight descended on the room, oppressive, cloistering. When he finished the sandwich and drank half the glass of ice tea, Mulder ran a hand over his face and stood, beckoning her to come with him. They sat together on the couch and he took her hands in his, but stared ahead, not looking at her. 

“He directed me without words where I should go, and I followed his instructions implicitly. I felt like a cornered animal. It was uncanny and, frankly, unnatural. To what degree has he ceased to be human that my instincts no longer recognize him as such? We drove to a rather upscale apartment building, and passed totally unnoticed into the parking structure. He was living in Birmingham, right in the middle of the city. Totally unnoticed. He opened the parking structure with telekinesis too. Like-”

“Like William could,” she supplied. 

“Yes. No one around us noticed us. No one acknowledged me, or Gibson. It was like they were looking right through us. Like we were invisible, or not even there. He let me into an apartment on the top floor. His apartment. He doesn’t pay rent, he doesn’t pay for anything. People’s eyes just sort of slide right over him, over the door to the room. It’s like he exists outside of the rest of the world, Scully. He’s isolated himself so completely that I’m not sure he remembers what it was like to be a part of society. He felt so detached, so, so _alien_ to me, Scully. I know what it means to say that, but that’s the only way to describe it. He’s inhuman, Scully. He’s _inhuman_.”

Mulder’s words left Scully unsettled. She sat back into the cushion, attempting to let the tenseness in her shoulders lessen. 

“He told me that he could do more than what we wanted. Said he could go anywhere undetected. We worked out a plan...sort of. He told me that he would do what we asked. Said he would keep an ear out for us and that he would ‘be in contact’. Whatever that means.” Distressed, he rubbed at his chin. “Jesus, I can’t believe I let him get-”

“It’s not your fault, Mulder,” she attempted to sooth, but he brushed her off. 

“I remember what he was like when we were living here in Roswell. I barely recognize him now, Scully. I can’t see how that little kid grew into…” The words fell away and Mulder sighed and let the train of thought die. “He’ll do it. There’s enough anger there to trust that much. He wants retribution, but only for himself. I don’t think he cares about people anymore. I don’t think he cares about anything.” 

The silence that fell felt like a pall, and Scully mourned the little boy whose life had been so disrupted by the machinations of people who little felt the consequences of their plans. 

“Monica and John say hello.” The segue was abrupt, but Scully understood. “Doggett was pissed at first, but he’ll cooperate. Monica gave me a hug. Not sure what I ever did to deserve that. Both were clean. No one’s been checking on either of them, but that doesn’t mean things couldn’t change. I gave them both the spiel. Here’s hoping it keeps them safe. Monica’s seeing a girl named Rebecca. I checked her out too. No red flags. Doggett gets together with a group of guys to watch NASCAR when it’s on and the rest of the year they watch the international races streaming from ESPN. They’re all clean too. No plants in the neighbours or in their departments, or associated departments. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was all too clean, but, honestly Scully, I think Doggett and Reyes are below their notice. That might change when the plan is set in motion, but it gives us the head start we need. And I think Gibson likes Reyes still well enough that he’ll look out for her, despite it all.”

“What do you think Walter will do when Gibson initiates contact?” 

“I have no idea.” 

Scully leaned her head on Mulder’s shoulder, taking a small measure of comfort in his presence there; after so many days alone, it felt good to have their routine closeness, feel the gentle lift of his chest as he breathed and the soft rustle of his hand against her leg. 

“How’s things on your end?”

“Progress. Potentially.” She shifted so she could look up at him from her position. “We’ve managed to identify several markers in the bees, most of which came from the same groups. That’s three of our test groups that have been affected. I’ve double checked it against what I found in our blood, and the sample you brough me. So far, its accurate. We’ve begun synthesizing a serum to match and reproduce purity and should counteract anything that’s happened to the crops they’ve pollinated as a result, but there’s no way of telling how long the bees have been pollinating in their altered state, and if that could even have an effect on the crops.

“The second phase has already begun as well; we’re working on realtering the genetics of one of the three groups. I’ve begun our extra tests last week. I was down to the storage unit Thursday and I took one of the sample bees that we altered and allowed it to sting a rat. Last time I was there, nothing more alarming happened that the usual reaction to a bee sting. But that’s no guarantee, considering the advanced level of the Colonists technology. And if the affected bees might produce the same result in rats - the virus itself might be able to identify a compatible host, thus making it impossible for us to tell its effectiveness without an actual human trial. We don’t have a strong enough composite yet of our own vaccine for me to risk testing it on either one of us.”

Vigorously, Mulder shook his head. “When you do, it’d better be me, Scully. I’m not essential to the plan. You are. I can’t do all this stuff. I couldn’t begin to mass produce a vaccine.”

Scully bristled. “Mulder, we are not having this conversation again.” 

“Like hell we’re not. Look, I’m the only one you can test it on, and we both know that I might not be a viable candidate. And you, besides the fact that we can’t save the world without you, wouldn’t be a good candidate either. Both our genetic structures are a science experiment gone wrong after everything that’s been done to us. But of the two, I’m still the better option. If it comes to that, promise me-”

“Hopefully it won’t come to that. We should be able to tell soon based on the test results from the pollinated sample crops.” Scully sat up, suddenly less inclined to get cozy, and Mulder, sensing her ire, allowed it, moving just slightly aside. “I’m sorry,” she relented. 

“Me too,” he replied instantly, but the moment was over. “How was your bookclub? You never did answer me earlier.”

Scully recognized the tentative steps towards reconciliation and wondered if either of them would ever grow out of their sensitivity. “It was nice. I got your letter today…” Mulder went a bit rigid, but she continued. “Dave said it got lost for a bit, which is why it was so late. I was leaving for Lisa’s when he gave it to me. I stuck it in my book. I didn’t even read it until I was on my way home. I sat over on that park bench three blocks away because I couldn’t take it any longer.”

“I’m-”

“I was so relieved,” Scully began, hating that she already felt the hot stinging signal of tears at her eyes. “That you were there, that we really had that conversation. I _needed_ you to hear those words. I needed to hear _your_ responses. It meant the world to me, Mulder. I felt it too, on his birthday, that hollow feeling. I still feel it.” She was crying fully, though quietly, by the time she was through, and Mulder’s strong arm pulled her back into his side, her head falling gratefully on his chest as he stroked her hair. “I want to find him. I want to find our son. I need it like I need air, Fox. Please. I need to know that he’s okay, that he’s safe and happy. I need to see him, to hold him. I need it so badly!” She was gasping the words by the end, and Mulder was rocking her in his embrace, breathing steadily, jaw clenched. As far apart as they’d been moments ago, they were infinitely closer in the now, like magnets, which could only stand the separation so long. 

“I know. I feel it to. I’m there with you, Dana. And I know that it’s different, that even though I feel it, it’s not the same, but I do feel it. I do. I need it too.” 

“Why can’t we just have peace? I’ve tried not to let it hurt me, but it still stings when they talk about their children and I can’t even mention-” She gasped in a quavering, wretched breath and Mulder turned into her, his other arm coming around her until she was surrounded by him completely, shaking against his stoic form. 

Mulder’s voice was muted from where his lips pressed into her hair, but as always, the words he spoke fell upon her like a balm. “Then let’s talk about it with someone. Let’s talk about him. Why should we have to keep it a secret? Let’s put his picture on the fridge, and dig out the photo album your mom made, put it on the coffee table. Let’s stop pretending. And if someone asks, we tell them.” Scully felt her hair ruffle as he sighed. “We can’t keep it bottled up, honey.” His last sentence was impossibly soft and she clutched at him harder. There were no tears - she was beyond that point, though their tracks were still drying on her cheeks. “It almost destroyed us before. Let’s not let it happen again.” 

“Okay,” she agreed breathily, pulling away to look at him, pressing her forehead to his. “You’re right. You’re right.” 

His large hands framed her face, lowering her head so he could press a kiss to her temple. “Let’s do it together,” he whispered when he pulled away.

That night, when Mulder’s soft breaths were rhythmically fluttering against the skin of her neck, Scully lay awake. Downstairs, on the coffee table, they’d left the photo album out. They hadn’t looked at it (neither of them were prepared for that yet) but they had chosen one from the first page to hang on the fridge. The evidence of what they’d once had - her 48 hours of perfect bliss, of her son and her partner in life and love, their worries behind them - visible to anyone. It felt _verboten_ , dangerous, like tempting fate and Scully felt a tiny bit braver, felt that maybe William didn’t have to be a chink in her armor, but rather a part of it. Her love for their son could protect her, instead of being something that needed protecting. 

Tightening her grip on Mulder’s forearm where it rested over her waist, Scully closed her eyes and prayed. 


	12. Sunday, December 26th, 2010 I-40 W, North Texas

**Sunday, December 26 th, 2010 I-40 W, North Texas**

It had been a while since they took this particular drive together, even though they’d made it more than enough times separately, Mulder found that it was nice for once to have company, and he was sure that Scully felt the same, perhaps more so, especially so close to the holiday, and so far from her family.

The simple fact of it was that they needed to do more testing against samples from their own cells – the only reliable sources that they had to compare the rudimentary inoculation Scully had been formulating. And even then, their bodies had been tempered with enough that it made things difficult to parse. Scully’s constant worry was that they were too different from regular humans for the precise markers to be easily visible, for them to be viable, and rat trial would only take them so far. They were quite literally living on a prayer.

Even the thought of human trials made Mulder shudder, the memories of his time in the Gulag in Tunguska all too fresh, even though he knew that whatever he had been given there after being doused in the Black Oil, whatever he had given Scully in Antarctica…it had worked. They had lived, they had recovered, seemingly completely, and that was the only hope they had left.

That, and William.

A ghost of a chance, and nothing more.

“Hey, Scully,” Mulder said, looking over at her from the driver’s seat. “How many bees do you think we accidentally kill with our cars? Do you think we as a race are occasionally sticking it to the intergalactic man: one in every few million taking out a virus carrying bee? Or are we only continuing to decrease the amount of pollinators necessary to keep our planet lush and healthy, seeing to the destruction of our planet even in the face of our would be alien invaders?”

“I think that you think too much, Mulder. Watch the road.”

He did as she asked, in at least one respect, turning back to the task at hand. “Are we just trading one certain annihilation for another?”

“Mulder…” Scully had that sound like she was rolling her eyes. He knew it intimately. He loved it just as much, and chuckled at her exasperation.

“I’m serious, Scully!” he replied playfully. “I want to know if I should swerve next time I see a bee about to hit my windshield, or if I should ram into it head on with voracious and gleeful impetus, like it was Cancer man’s face on the little buggers.”

From his peripherals, he could see Scully’s short cropped auburn locks shift back and forth with the shake of her head. “Alright. Come on. Tell me. What is it, Mulder?”

“What do you mean, ‘what is it’?” he glanced over again. “ ‘It’ is nothing.” He felt the glare land on him in lieu of her reply. “I was just thinking about this. About our chances, I mean.”

“Our chances?”

“Of successfully formulating a viable vaccine of our own and actually being able to distribute it widely enough to make a difference.”

That time, her silence was not playfully aggressive.

That time, her silence was deafening.

“We’re just two people, and a group of grad students who don’t even know what project they’re really working on. Krasnoyarsk had a whole prison full of test subject and a slew of scientists, and our own government was testing on nursing home patients with the best of the best doctors on the job, Scully, I just…sometimes it all seems, well, insurmountable.”

She shifted in the seat, uncomfortably, and he knew instantly that he shouldn’t have said anything at all. It was always a toss-up, being vulnerable with her about things like that. When it came down to it, Mulder had always been the one running the final stretch to light the Olympic torch on belief, really. Once or twice, sure, Scully had subbed in when he couldn’t find the strength, helping him to lift it. But carrying it on her own had never been her strong suit. And yet… any yet, she always desired for him to open and honest with her, even when it meant she had to be strong because he was weak.

(And he couldn’t very well fault her for either of those things. _Wanting_ someone to be open with you, and actually _dealing_ with the emotional fallout of being vulnerable in an intimate relationship were two very different things.)

So often, he knew he’d been the one who was weak, and even when he was strong, he was never as strong as Scully.

But belief was his arena, not hers. At least, fruitless, hopeless optimistic belief was his arena.

And if he couldn’t believe…

“Scully-“

“Mulder-“

They spoke simultaneously, each turning to face one another, looking away just as quickly, and Mulder flushed, feeling stupidly like it was 1993 all over again and he was in boyish puppy love with his fiery new partner.

“I believe in you, Dana,” he said, swallowing around her name. “But I’m still afraid.”

“I’m afraid, too,” she replied, clearing her throat. “We’ve always been two pillars leaning against one another to hold each other up, because the ceiling’s already fallen in around us, but I’ve always been able to trust in science, and my own capabilities in this field. Outside factors are our problem here, and that’s what’s always been hard, Fox. Outside factors. But I can rely on you, and you can rely on me, and that’s all we can ever do. The rest is faith.”

Across the center console, he felt her hand come to rest on his knee, thumb rubbing at the divot of the bone joint. 

“Have faith, Mulder,” she said, and her voice was steady and firm. “You have to have faith. That’s all we have left, and if we lose that, then it’s all over before it can really begin at all.”

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

He flicked the turn signal and merged left to pass the vehicle in front of him. “Have faith?”

There was a moment’s silence – not the sort of silence that really was silent, of course, the low rumbling of the engine, the pseudo electronic hum of the aging speakers, the wind battering against the vehicle as they cruised along at a sedate sixty-five miles an hour.

“I have hope.”

Mulder’s heart fluttered, and not in a good way.

Hope and faith, after all, weren’t the same things.


	13. Journal – January 2011

**Journal – January 2011**

_Into what future have we looked that we now are creating those very things which, so long ago imagined, were considered the grandest expressions of fiction? Lasers, nanotechnology, the handheld computer. Even flight._

_All these things are the height of mankind’s potential. We fix eyes, target bad cells, surf the ever-expanding internet from the screen of a hand-held phone the size of our palms, with buttons that only exist digitally. Touch screens and swiping, texting and email._

_Edgar Rice Burroughs and Frank Herbert. My youthful heroes._

_Fantastical visionaries._

_Aldous Huxley and George Orwell._

_Prophets of terrifying truths. Harbingers of our doom._

_Where will it come to end? With Bradbury’s Pedestrians being arrested for taking a walk? Or Phillip K. Dick’s replicants replacing real humans, with no one the wiser?_

_Once – admitted a_ long _time ago, even I would have considered even the possibility of such extremes utter folly._

_No longer._

_Huxley’s claim -that pleasure would overrule our desire to know the truth – while not entirely false, has its merit. Shoddy rags on the rack at the supermarket proclaim all the wildest tabloid ‘news’, and the internet and reality television perpetuate such unimportant blather as the Kardashian’s. Yet, Orwell’s claims – that our access to the truth would be controlled through fear by the government – has not wholly come to pass either. Instead, a more insidious combination of these theorems has been constructed to contain all manner of people._

_Those who refuse to be willfully blind will find it difficult to convince anyone else of their beliefs, because the rest of the populace simply won’t care. Everything else can be covered up, and left to be regarded as a government perpetuated hoax. It’s nothing new, but it’s creeping in closer now, now that everyone is armed with a device, now that everyone is connected and aware._

_Conspiracy theorists are invaded by plants who seek to disrupt and discredit those who are already considered to be insane fanatics, lest they find some modicum of credibility and threaten the stability of the world at large._

_Huxley was right about that part. Stability is the key. Stabilize the population’s curiosity, mitigate it to worthless fluff, and suddenly, free reign!_

_But Orwell was right about the news. It says whatever they want it to say, and they have the power to make conflicting sources disappear; with enough misdirection, even things on the internet can be buried, made lost and forgotten_

_We live in a captive culture, certainly, one left unfulfilled by the vapid filler product that television commercials sell us on through the concept of living happier lives. Happy, content people don’t question the world around them, even if it’s crumbling, and intelligent, educated people don’t know enough not to be happy even when the floor’s fallen out from under them. Falling feels good, after all, don’t you know?_

_Science is becoming Heathen. Climate conferences fail, because of cleverly worded and rationalized counterarguments hinging on the defensiveness of the religious, who are purposefully made to feel attacked, even when they haven’t been targeted at all. Preservation efforts fall through. The global economy is controlled by the oil industry, and the oil industry is a connected front to the anti-preservation efforts. Tell one poor vegan that eating honey hurts bees, and suddenly you have seven blogs simul-protesting the consumption of a product that arguably does more good than harm. And those seven blogs convince a hundred well-meaning do-gooders that they need to change their ways. The same thing happened with vaccination, an even more cruel and horrific lie, which jeopardizes the lives of so many young innocents. Even when the truth is outed, the damage is done._

_We’re being hive-minded, and they’re doing it without even breaking a sweat. Fear is the instigator. Not everyone needs to believe. Just enough so that those who won’t, don’t matter._

_We are no longer working against a single government group. We are now up against the unmitigated influence of the rest of the world, which acts as unwitting party to this singularly heinous crime. They no longer do their own dirty work; they deliberately plant the seed of misinformation to virialize an agenda-serving falsehood, so that it has no source, for if there is no source, there is no way to prevent its cannibalistic spread. Cut off but one of the Hydras many heads and two more will sprout._

_In the end, we have become our own worst enemies, eating our eyes and our ears, mistrusting our senses rather than opening ourselves to the truth._

_Let it never be said that enlightenment was a painless process._


	14. 10:17 pm, Monday, July 4th 2011 Roswell, New Mexico

**10:17 pm, Monday, July 4 th 2011 Roswell, New Mexico**

Scully had always loved the way that fireworks were reflected in other people’s eyes. Perhaps it was odd, that she’d always preferred to watch the sparkling bombs indirectly, but there was something about it, something in the glazed awe that was present there that enhanced the experience in a way turning her eyes to the sky had never been able to provide. Even now, no longer a tiny child on her father’s knee or curled on the plaid blanket at her mother’s feet, she still preferred it.

The blanket beneath them was also plaid, but new, not the ragged, much used and stained thing that had accompanied she and her siblings on many an outing, and she was seated with both of Mulder’s long legs stretched out to either side of her, bracketing her with all his limbs, his arms loosely slung around her, her head resting on his shoulder, neck craned to watch those rare and beautiful starbursts glistening in his wide, shining eyes; even his mouth hung open a bit, and there was an unconscious grin forming across his features. It was easy to see him as a youth in moments like that, small windows into the long suppressed psyche of the pre-Samantha’s-abduction _Fox_.

He was alluring, like that. A forbidden, innocent vision. A person she would never really meet. A person who was little more than a memory.

So, she relished in those small moments, few and far between as they were.

Against her back, she could feel the sharp inhale of his breath as a particularly splendid one – green, like his eyes – went spiraling through the sky.

He was meant to be like that, she knew. Eyes on the world above, forever in curious contemplation of the wide expanse of space, full of wonder and simple joy. Too often he’d looked there in terror, anger, sorrowful contemplation. Once, he’d confided that his young self dreamed of becoming an astronaut, like most young people did at one time or another. Of course, his Deuteranopia would have kept him from that profession anyways (not that it had with the Bureau; he’d confessed to _creatively_ working his way around on their tests, something about figuring out that ‘green’ was a slightly different shade of…whatever it was he saw, than ‘red’), had his trauma not done it for him.

A small part of her raged, watching that stolen innocence live bright and beautiful in his eyes, absorbed as he was in the patriotic show. A small part of her wanted to go back, so, so far back, and change his life. Fix his world, even at the expense of their relationship with one another. Even at the expense of their son.

He was lost to them anyways.

A bluish white spiral shattered the glossy black of his eyes in the night, and the world slowed, sped backwards, through all of their strife and struggles, their successes and celebrations, back and back and back until he was young again, driven, the light of drive not yet gone out from his eyes, back further, until the him she imagined was a figment built from years of stories, of _knowing_ him, tracing the present back on the path of his forward trajectory, back and back and back until he was as she had _never_ known him.

Young, carefree, innocent, his life full of possibility, his path as yet undefined by tragedy and pain.

There, in the empty white space of her mind’s eye, he was made manifest. She wanted to reach out her hand, cup his soft cheek – looking down at him, for once, from standing – and tell him that the world was his apple, that he could carve whatever future he wanted for himself.

That nothing would ever stand in his way.

She blinked away imaginary tears.

Abruptly, upon opening them, the young Fox she’d imagined for her own edification was gone, and in his place was a boy of similar features but with lighter colouring, his hair a short, shaggy mess, slightly finer structure to his bones, a puckish expression, despite the seriousness belayed in his eyes.

 _“You can’t change things, Mom,”_ he said, and she felt a strangled sound of protest bubble in her throat at the words. _“You can’t change what’s meant to be.”_

“Scully?”

Mulder’s voice broke her from the…broke her away and she blinked in the darkness.

“You okay?”

“Mmm.” The noncommittal sound was all she was comfortable articulating just then, but he only leaned his head down to press a chaste kiss at her hairline.

“You kind of spaced out there during the grand finale. You sure you’re alright?”

“Hold me, Mulder?”

Wordlessly, he acquiesced, pulling her in close. The world was dark now, save the twinkling effervescent light of the ageless stars. They’d driven out of town a ways onto an empty dirt road. Behind them, an old ranch house and its companionable windmill creaked and groaned in the hot, dry night. In the far distance, the only sound was the growl of an old truck as it traversed the dusty, deserted roads, a lone traveler in a wide world. And even that faded, isolating them completely.

“Happy Independence Day, Scully,” Mulder said, his voice barely a whisper, reverent to the deepening night. It meant more now, that phrase. More than ‘the American Dream’, more than white picket fences, bbq ribs, and football halftime shows. More than white powdered monolithic heroes of a bygone age, simultaneously more and less civilized than their modern equivalents.

It was greater than them.

It was hope for freedom, hope for the world. A dream that there would be a future. A dream that it mightn’t all fade, die, decay into ash and ruin and desolation. But although Scully thought it and felt it, she didn’t articulate it. It felt too cliché, too silly considering the movie from 1996, but it was still true.

They were running out of time.


	15. Wednesday, March 7th, 2012 The ‘Blake’ House, Roswell, New Mexico

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe now that there's sex in this one someone will actually bother to read it. lol. 
> 
> I posted like 5 chapters in honour of all the times I've forgotten to post.

**Wednesday, March 7 th, 2012 The ‘Blake’ House, Roswell, New Mexico**

Mulder sipped at his tea absently before receiving the unfriendly reminder of just exactly how hot it was. Settling the steaming cup back on the coaster, he lifted the book once again, propped his legs on the coffee table and blinked blearily in the shaft of sunlight that filtered in through the window. It was early still, seven something he supposed. When the world was still dark, he’d first opened his eyes to Scully’s blissfully sleeping face and hadn’t the heart to wake her. She didn’t go in to work until later, and his classes didn’t run Wednesdays anyhow. But old habits died hard and even though he slept worlds better beside her, the amount of better sleep was still variant. That didn’t stop him from enjoying the morning lazily.

For a while, he’d simply lain there staring at her, fondling the short cut tresses of amber against their cornflower blue linens. In sleep, she was unharried, worry free, the lines of her face softening into something approaching what they’d been in the few blissful hours of respite she’d had as a new mother between feedings. It was the softest he’d ever seen her, those few days he’d been with them after William was born. Days that were both blessing and curse. At once, it was better to have loved and lost him, as the old saying went, but even that short time left Mulder and Scully both irrevocably changed. He tried, most of the time, not to minimize what he’d been through in comparison.

For Scully, seventeen months of hopes and dreams vanished in moments.

For him, the time was considerably less. But somehow, it didn’t seem to matter. He’d loved his son instantly, despite the fear. And he’d tried not to get attached before he was born, just in case, but that had been farcical to say the least. He was gone on that baby the moment he knew, and that only made it all the worse.

Mulder couldn’t concentrate on the book. Or maybe he couldn’t concentrate because of the book. Bradbury’s deluge into the conscious mind of the nineteen fifties boy-child was far too close to home.

_"Stop!" cried the old man._

_Douglas pulled up and turned._

_Mr. Sanderson leaned forward._

_"How do they feel?" The boy looked down at his feet deep in the rivers, in the fields of wheat, in the wind that already was rushing him out of the town. He looked up at the old man, his eyes burning, his mouth moving, but no sound came out._

_"Antelopes?" said the old man, looking from the boy's face to his shoes. "Gazelles?"_

_The boy thought about it, hesitated, and nodded a quick nod. Almost immediately he vanished. He just spun about with a whisper and went off. The door stood empty. The sound of the tennis shoes faded in the jungle heat._

_Mr. Sanderson stood in the sun-blazed door, listening. From a long time ago, when he dreamed as a boy, he remembered the sound. Beautiful creatures leaping under the sky, gone through brush, under trees, away, and only the soft echo of their running left behind._

_"Antelopes," said Mr. Sanderson. "Gazelles."_

_He bent to pick up the boy's abandoned winter shoes, heavy with forgotten rains and long-melted snows. Moving out of the blazing sun, walking softly, lightly, slowly, he headed back toward civilization . . ._

“Hey, Mulder.” Scully’s kiss found his temple, her hands softening the hair that when still uncombed from sleep. “Good Morning. What’re you reading?”

“Hmmm.” He looked up to meet her, stretching for her lips, which bridged the rest of the way to meet his. “Torture. I’m reading torture,” he said when he pulled back. Scully was in her soft waffle press robe of some unidentifiable shade of soft blue green. It came to just below her knee and didn’t quite ghost her wrists. Once, he’d put the thing on in jest. It had been most definitely indecent, but it earned him one of her living laughs, full of amusement and joy and blazing sunshine. “Happy Anniversary,” he said, before she could question him further about the book, and set it aside, reaching behind the pillow beside him to pull out the decently wrapped box. He’d been known to manage to be delicate once in a while.

Scully made a face, something half ways between delighted and confused. Presents were her weakness, aside from ice cream and spa days. There was something for her about the mystery of that wrapped box, so carefully put together to contain something so dear. Something _for her_. That discovery had been a wonderous one, and Mulder never tired of watching her eye light up as she tore into a package. Maybe part of her delight came in the fact that she was allowed to destroy something for once, a hold over from her ship-shape Navy brat childhood.

The other part was the greediness of having multiple siblings and being able to finally claim something as hers and hers alone.

Mischief curling at the corner of her mouth, she snatched the package from his hands and plopped down on the couch beside him, leaning into him heavily as she did so, the familiar habit of comfort subconsciously attained even in her utter distraction.

The paper tore with satisfying ease and the box opened with a pop. Scully giggled. Her tongue stuck out the corner of her mouth as she worked at the packaging, which was flung unceremoniously behind her.

“Oh my _god_ , Mulder this is terrible!” She could barely talk for laughing as she pulled the crass mug from the box.

Smugly, Mulder smiled. “I mean, the sentiment it true, so…”

“Mulder!” She rolled her eyes, but thumbed over the painted china, a beautiful curling script which unceremoniously read ‘Dat Ass’, under which was a peach emoji. “I hate it.” Her tone said otherwise. “What’s the occasion?”

“It’s our twentieth anniversary today, Scully. That’s the china anniversary.”

For a moment, eyes still settled on the mug, she blinked, processing the information. He sat up, putting his feet back on the floor, and turned to her, taking one hand in his.

“Twenty years ago, to the day, you walked into my basement and my life and you’ve been there ever since. Happy Anniversary, Honey.”

“Mulder!”

Of all the different ways she could say his name, he’d heard a few of his favourite inflections over the course of only a few minutes. But the last one – not the fond exasperation, nor the protesting giggle, but rather the achingly soft one – was his absolute favourite. She leaned in and kissed him soundly, pulling back to nuzzle her head into the crook of his neck. As she made herself comfortable, Mulder relished in the warmth of her petite form. In the sun, her hair shone like a new copper penny. 

“You like it.” A statement, not a question. He imagined that she looked bemused.

“I do.”

The silence between them was comfortable and Mulder almost forgot that morning’s reading debacle before she shifted, so that she could look up at him, and gave a peck to his jaw. “I didn’t get you anything. We’ve never…celebrated…before. Why now?”

“Just finding reasons to celebrate, I guess.”

“Hmmm.”

“Besides, I got myself something anyhow.”

She perked at that.

“Did you now?”

“Yup. I was thinking of you, see?” he reached back to the mug and held it aloft.

“‘Dat Beard’. Mulder,” she whined. “I _hate_ your beard!”

“Point in case, Honey. Point in case.”

“I thought that was your ‘Ancient Alien Theorist’ one! You cheat!” She scrambled, and he hastily set down the tea before it could splash. A halfhearted hand tapped at his chest. “You wanted to see if I’d notice.”

“All this proves is that I have too many mugs.”

Scully chuckled again and then set the mug down in her lap. “Did you make coffee? It doesn’t smell like you did.”

“Tea.”

“Heathen.”

“Cavewoman. ‘I Scully. I need Coffee. Auuurgh.’”

“Come here, you.” She pulled him down to her, pressing their lips together. Her hands threaded through his hair, tugging a little and he jolted at the contact, reacting instinctively. Arms winding around her, he pulled her into his lap, his hands settling at her hips before smoothing their way up her back to her shoulder blades.

Breathless from the kiss, she pulled back, holding his face in her hands. “Happy Anniversary, Mulder.”

“Happy Anniversary, Scully.” She ground her hips down a bit, slowly and he groaned. “And a _very_ good morning to you, too.”

Her lips found his again before descending, mouthing and nipping at his jaw, down his jugular, to the base of his throat, soft, breathy kisses that made him feel weak beneath her. Along his sides, her hands trailed, light and almost ticklish, if it weren’t for the just-right pressure that kept it sensuous. One hand slipped beneath his white tee, skimmed up his abs, nails scratching lightly, while the other trailed at his waistband.

Breath hitching, he moaned, let his hands fall into her hair, tangling in the silken strands.

She slipped from his lap, his fingers sliding effortlessly from her tresses as she settled on her knees before him. Dangerously, her hands found purchase on his thighs, slipped up, turned inward…

“Oh, God, _Scully_.”

“Buck up, G-man.” She slapped his hip playfully, and he did as she asked, lifting his hips. A morning blow-job had not been in his plans, but it was certainly a welcome deviation. Effortlessly, she pulled the loose sleep pants down to his ankles and leaned in, looking up at him as she licked her lips.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Scully,” he managed to say without too much difficulty. She merely grinned, the salaciousness of the pink tip of her tongue against the pearl white of one sharp incisor sending a jolt through him.

“Just a little death, Mulder. That’s not so bad, now is it?”

His eyebrows shot to his hairline, but before he could retort, she’d leaned in and pressed one ever so chaste kiss to his tip and his head fell back with a groan.

A goddess even on her knees, he let her work him over, all velvet and heat and pressure. Time was meaningless with her hands steady on his thighs holding him steady even the wake of the overwhelming onslaught of pleasure. She was golden, the radiance of the sun made manifest and he welled with adoration for her, mindless, an instrument strung by her whim, plucked and played however she willed.

Beneath her insistent hands and her clever mouth – her _beautiful, sinful_ mouth – he crested that wave and fell into warm bliss.

When he came back from that heavenly abyss, Scully was seated next to him on the couch, her tiny feet curled beneath her as she stroked tenderly at his cheek.

“Mmm. That was incredible. But you know what’s even better?”

“What?”

There was such aching softness in her voice and he felt it almost like a pang in his heart.

“Dessert.”

Reaching toward her with one lazy hand, he parted the robe, pressing his palm to the space between her breasts, the skin smooth and warm where her heart beat beneath his hand. Trailing it down, he simultaneously moved in towards her, laying her back onto the cushions as pulled the robe aside, leaving her exposed. Lightly, he breathed on the tender flesh of her abdomen, fluttering with her breath, and pressed his own trail of kisses down to her apex. She was sweet as ever, the familiar scent of her comforting as he set to kissing there as well. He heard her exhale. That most coveted sound of all, rapturous and free, which only he could draw forth and no other. Pride welled in him almost humorously. He lifted her legs by strong calves, slipping them over his shoulders easily, keeping to stride. How many, how long, how earth-shattering, he couldn’t control, but he’d always attempted to do his best, and it was a special occasion after all. It was a privilege to hold her pleasure in his grasp, to wrest it from her, to transcend her worries and concerns, to blind her to life and expectations, if only for a little while. A privilege and a pleasure all its own.

Those same exhales and inhales came more quickly, and her heels dug into his back with delicious pressure as she tensed, high, high above reality, coming down slow and languid as a butterfly. Boneless, her legs slid from his shoulders to either side of him, and it was his turn to lick his lips when he came up for air; the ambrosia taste of her would linger there indefinitely.

Smug at the way her eyelids were still fluttering, Mulder stroked one trembling thigh gently. “I think it’s about time we had breakfast.”

“That wasn’t breakfast?” she asked, and well, she was coherent, so it maybe wasn’t the _best_ job he’d done, but she was glowing, warm and pink, and her smile was satisfied. “Make me an omelet?”

“Whites only with all three colours of peppers and the four cheese Mexican blend coming right up.”

“Mmm. And a shower after?” There was a hopeful lilt to her question, and he smiled indulgently.

“Since we’re not too old for the couch, I guess we’re not too old for the shower.”

“You might be old, but I’m not. I’ll only be old when I’m as old as you.”

Pretend hurt, Mulder scoffed. “No omelet for you, traitor.”

She pouted prettily. “No omelet, no shower.”

“You’re the one who wanted the shower in the first place!”

“Like you don’t?” She smirked in disbelief. “Come on, old man.” Her foot whacked him in the ass. “Make me breakfast naked.”

“It’s like I don’t even know you anymore. Invasion of the body-snatchers all over again.” She was a vision, splayed decadently over the couch, hand lolling in the air, barely concealing her laughter. “Fine,” he relented, standing from the couch as he pulled off the tee and flung it at her, her hands coming up to catch it reflexively. Shamelessly, he padded to the kitchen. “One naked omelet, but _I’m_ picking the music. None of that classical crap for our morning indulgences.”

“Not Moby, Mulder! Anything but Moby,” she called back.

He was half tempted to put on _Play_ , but instead he set the input on the little mp3 to radio, tuning for an eighties station. “Here we go. Blancmange. Now I do feel old.”

“So change the channel!”

He did, and the sounds of Classics IV filed the room. “That’s better.”

“How does this not make you feel old?” She was standing in the doorway, the robe still hanging open on her petite frame, hands on her hips, brow raised as he raided the fridge. A beautiful sight, all his, and he grinned, grooving a little to the music in all his naked glory as he moved with the egg carton and peppers to the counter.

“’Bring back that sun-ny da-ay!’ You asked for this, Scully. You sure you can handle it?”

She covered her grin with a hand fruitlessly, eye traveling down his body in an attempt to look skeptical as opposed to appreciative as he cracked the eggs over the skillet, skillfully keeping the yoke in the shell, and turned the knob on the stove, dancing in place while he did.

“Too much, Honey? Or not enough? ‘Oh, stormy…” he sent her an exaggerated smolder over his shoulder as he sliced the peppers and saw that she was no longer able to hide the smile.

“Put on an apron, Mulder.” She rolled her eyes. “We don’t want any awkward to explain incidents. I can still appreciate your ass that way anyhow.”

“Good point.”

The song changed, and the apron wasn’t exactly what he’d call the most comfortable thing to ever cover his junk, but it was better than nothing. Scully hopped up on the breakfast bar, her feet kicking at the backboard in time with the music as she watched him in her own smug way.

He moved to start the coffee for her when she spoke up, breaking the moment. “I’d ask what’s got you in such a good mood if it weren’t already obvious, but I still confess to being curious.”

He hummed a bit, flipping the omelet over with the spatula – he was good, but not that good – and onto the plate, complete with the small salad forks she preferred to the oversized dinner ones, and clicked the burner knob back into place. “My smoking red head likes to watch me dance naked while I make breakfast. I’d say I have a lot to be happy about.” As he pressed the plate into her hands, he kissed her chastely on the cheek. “What more could a guy ask for?”

“Hmm. I don’t know. You do have it pretty good, don’t you?” She kissed him back, on the lips. “Thank you for breakfast, Mulder.”

“Enjoy, honey.”

“Oh, I am. I am.” She set the plate aside, pulling him in to her with a hand around his neck, while the other slipped behind his back to pull suggestively at the strings of the apron. Her legs hitched up and hooked around his legs, effectively trapping him. “I am.”


	16. Evening, Sunday, June 24th, 2012 The ‘Blake’ House, Roswell, NM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woah it's been a LONG time. I just...sort of forgot that I had to update this. Considering that it's all written. Whoops.

**Evening, Sunday, June 24 th, 2012 The ‘Blake’ House, Roswell, NM**

Mulder’s grip around her waist tightened slightly, and she inched backwards into the embrace so that he could nuzzle his nose against her ear, as he was always particularly inclined to do. Despite the many years that they’d been together, Scully had never quite figured out what it was that Mulder liked about spooning so much. Part of it, she was sure, had to do with the fact that she was so much smaller than him, that he fit around her so well. The other part _maybe_ had to do with the fact that he liked having something to hold. A natural element of comfort, to which many adults were prone. Yet another part of her felt that it was purposefully so that he could tease her and tickle her, but the simple fact was that they both liked the closeness, the security.

Ironic, considering that it also meant that some of their most intimate conversations didn’t have to be held face to face.

“Just think about it, Scully,” he was saying as she ruminated, his voice husky from sleep deprivation – neither had been sleeping particularly well anymore, considering. “You, me, a vehicle we actually _own_ for once and a wide open land ripe with unexplained ancient mystery. The Urraca Mesa got legends going all the way back to the Anasazi, Scully and this week is a prime opportunity. Your kids are off, I’m not working, the end is coming. What do you say?”

Blinking out the emblazoned numbers on the clock – a vibrantly neon 11:43pm in sickly green – Scully sighed, playing along with the charade. “One last case, Mulder? Really?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Well,” she began, “For one, I thought we bought that Jeep for _me_.” Only two weeks prior, after Mulder had convinced her that it was only practical to buy a vehicle that would be able to off-road post-apocalypse, they’d purchased the shiny black Wrangler, trading it in for the two door sedan she’d been taking to and from work.

“We did! It stands to reason that major roadways will become impassable and – “

“Yes,” she cut him off with a good natured tone. “So you’ve said. And now you want to use _my_ brand new, beautiful Jeep to go on a _case_.”

“Uh huh.” He nuzzled in closer, the cheater, but she wasn’t going to let it get to her.

“An unnecessary case.”

“Debatable.”

“We haven’t been employees of the Bureau in so many years, Mulder, it’s not even funny! We don’t _have_ cases anymore.”

“Okay, so it’s not a case. It’s us going on a sight-seeing vacation and maybe checking out the veracity of well documented folklore in our local area while we’re at it.”

“Is that so?”

“Cross my heart, Scully.”

“And there’s a lake?”

“Yep. A lake _and_ a spooky mesa.”

“And you want to see this mesa _why_ exactly?” It was old hat, pretending that she wouldn’t end up caving to his youthful excitability and ridiculous desire to galivant off into the wilderness in pursuit of the unnatural.

“Colfax county – supposedly one of the most haunted places in the country – is home to the Philmont Scout Ranch and the mesa in question, which has had its own share of issues, much of which stems from a story much, much older than the ranch itself. According to Navajo legend, the Urraca Mesa is the gateway to the underworld. There are many well documented encounters with the ghost of an Anasazi man appearing to the Navajo who settled there. Their shaman spoke to him after they first started to feel the presence of evil entities, and he told of a great mission by the Anasazi people to fight back the demonic forces that threatened to spread to the rest of the world. He stayed behind to seal the gate after them, so that nothing would ever be released into the mortal plane again!”

“I see.”

“But the magpies – and they say that if they call your name, the magpies, I mean, that you’d be doomed to an evil fate – prophesied that the gate would open again someday, so he had to ward them away with cat totems. It’s said that he still appears as a glowing blue figure, chasing away any who come too near the hellmouth. Of course, that all predates the supposed murderous wandering monks, the black amorphous horsemen, and the missing scout – of course, it’s also home to a large quantity of lodestone, which is known to interact poorly with compasses, so that only adds to the intrigue, don’t you agree?”

“Mhmm…” she blinked slowly, lazily, her lids heavy.

“Oh, and I almost forgot. I can show you tomorrow, because I printed out a topographical map, but guess what shape the landscape produced atop it?”

“What shape?”

“A _skull_.”

“Goodnight, Mulder.”

He chuckled a little, and she didn’t need to see his face to know that he was smiling the broad, self-satisfied smile of a little boy who has just gotten his way

“I love you, Scully.”

“Mmhmm. Love you, too.”


	17. Monday, June 25th New Mexico

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of a little minific

**Monday, June 25 th, 2012 Highway 285N, New Mexico**

They traded in Mulder’s vehicle for a truck the next morning – all cash, the benefits of having a trust fund, apparently, in addition to the prior sale of two vacation homes, were that you could privately fund illicit vaccine research and production, as well as buy houses and cars without leaving a paper trail - a 2010 two toned Dodge Ram Power Wagon in silver and black that Mulder deemed an acceptable off-road vehicle. Neither of them mentioned the fact that it also seated four. Some things were too much to hope for.

Bags packed and loaded, and one truck-stop breakfast on the way out of town later, they were on their way by just half past ten. Wrestling with the map, Scully frowned over at Mulder. “Exactly how long is this drive supposed to take?”

“Oh, only a couple of hours.”

“A couple? How many – bear with me - precisely, scientifically is ‘a couple’ in Mulderese?”

“Hmmm, four and a half?”

“Mulder!” It came out a groan, but she didn’t mean it. Quite the opposite, actually, as the unrestrained smile that crept across her face attested. He looked, frankly, beautiful. With the windows down, his hair was ruffling in the warm breeze and when filtered through light it a glowed a warm chestnut. In his sunglasses and white tee shirt, he looked sharp. Toned.

Happy.

It didn’t feel like work, or a case. She was in shorts, for one; really short olive green cargos and her own white tee to match, a combination which she’d _certainly_ never worn as an agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. _“I’m just a lowly bikini inspector these days, Scully_ ,” Mulder had joked a while back, when she was trying on a new suit, although he was hopeless when it came to recommendations. For one, he thought everything looked nice on her, and he _was_ colour blind to boot. Why she kept asking was a mystery. Maybe it was the salacious way he grinned when she did.

Let it never be said that it didn’t feel nice to be admired for so long by the same man.

So what there was a local legend? So what they were driving four and change hours across the state to get there? They were in a truck, she wasn’t in heels and there was a nice relaxing vision of a sunset sparkled lake hovering in her imagination. It would be a change of landscape to be sure, to the miles and miles of desert that whizzed past them as they sped easily along.

And then, Mulder turned on the radio. One more thing to distance the idea of ‘case’ from the imminent excitement of ‘vacation’, which in turn was meant to distance them from the impending doom that would be visited inevitably upon the earth in little more than six months.

Scully pushed away all thoughts of colonization. That day, there was nothing that could sour her mood.

Resting her head back and closing her eyes to truly soak in the late morning’s bright and relaxing sun, she let the dual stimulants of the rushing wind and the 70’s channel merge and combine, lulling her a little in the wake of what had been an excellent breakfast.

Of course, Mulder broke the peace.

“You know, I always imagine this song coming on in a movie, right as the aliens attack. All the picture sound is just muted and this song plays over scenes of people running screaming or something. Is that silly?”

Scully opened just one eye, catlike. “Mulder, that’s morbid. Don’t taint the purity of the Carpenters.” She let a note of a whine enter her voice. “Leave me one good thing?”

“I did _not_ pick this song, Scully,” he protested. “The radio just happens to be particularly attuned to our current destination. But it’s not just this one. It’s the same with that Peer Gynt song, you know? ‘Morning Mood’? ‘Oh look,’” he sing-songed in his awful falsetto, “’It’s a little birdy! Happy and free!’ And then ‘ _WHAM’_ -“ Mulder slammed the heel of his hand down on the leather of the steering wheel, resulting in a loud slap that punctuated his macabre narrative. “Bird hits windshield in a puff of feathers. Dramatic irony at its finest.”

“Dramatic irony is ‘Calling Occupants’ playing in our vehicle, _ever_ ,” she fixed him with a suspicious glare, though there was no heat behind it, “without you having called in to request it. If I’ve ever seen a real, true example of the supernatural, it’s this moment, right now.”

“ _WHAM_ , Scully!” he said again, and she rolled her eyes. “Just like that, gone! No, dramatic Irony is us rolling out of Roswell in December with ‘The End of the World As We Know It’ playing. Top _that_.”

So, she thought, detachedly amused, they’d finally caved and turned to dark humor in place of the depressive. Or maybe it was just that it was difficult to be upset with the fresh air filling their lungs and the anticipation of a journey – not a destination – on the horizon.

She didn’t try to top it.

What she _did_ do, however, was toe off her flip flops (she’d left her hiking boots in the back for later), and prop her feet out the passenger side window.

When she chanced a glance across the seat to Mulder and saw that he was gaping, and not in that mock surprised way that he sometimes fell back on, she arched an eyebrow.

“What?” she asked playfully sharp and he shook his head rapidly, a look of innocence forced across his features. Feeling sly, she smirked. “You got a problem, G-man? Didn’t you hear? The world’s ending. Rules don’t matter anymore.” Her tone was drier than the New Mexican soil. “I’m sticking it to the man.” 

Gasping overdramatically, he laid a hand over his chest. “Who are you and what have you done with my Scully?”

“Surprise Mulder, you’ve been living with an extreme insurrectionist, didn’t you know? What will I do next? Maybe I’ll pierce my nose, maybe I’ll dye my hair hot pink.”

“ _No! The Horror!”_

“Mm, I think it sounds like an _excellent_ idea, Mulder.”

“It’s like I never knew you at all! I can’t live like this, married to a total stranger.”

Unable to contain it any longer, Scully snorted. “Married?!” she laughed aloud. “Mulder, we may be common law, but I don’t think that constitutes the ‘getting’ part of married. In order for that to happen, you’d have to actually ask me first.”

“I did!” came the protest. “You never gave me an answer. And what’s to say that you couldn’t ask me? I though we lived in a progressive household, or is that all a lie too?”

“You did NOT ask, Mulder!” Scully threw back, sitting up a little from her slouch, though she kept her feet dangling out the window, appreciating the cool rush of air on her skin. “That does _not_ count.”

“How does it not count? I said ‘Scully, marry me.”

“We were on the _phone!_ I was enlisting your help on that-that…oh the possessed doll one. While I was on _vacation_ mind you. That was _not_ a case.”

“Yeah, but I did ask, and you never gave me an answer, by the way. I distinctly remember you telling me that I wasn’t being helpful and hanging up on me. The ball has been in your court this entire time. I’ve simply been waiting for you to make up your mind. I think this might be a record. We should call up Guinness Book and see if we can still get in the 2012 edition. Something to say we did, you know, before it all crumbles around us.”

“But we _are_ married, Mulder, we just didn’t _get_ married,” she corrected, ignoring everything else. “You can’t say that we ‘got’ married. We just sort of… _became_ married. Right?”

“So do you want to get married?”

Suddenly, it didn’t sound like he was joking anymore; he was notorious for that, always had been, bringing up serious implications in the middle of a bit of friendly banter.

“Do I want to get – _Mulder_ … you’re serious aren’t you? Are you being serious?”

“Yeah, I mean,” he shrugged a bit, glancing back at her from the road. “I can hear it clear as crystal. ‘Introducing Mister and Missus Dana Scully.’ ‘Mister Mulder Scully.’” There was only a slight level of facetiousness in his tone. “It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“ _Mulder_.”

He breathed in heavily through his nose. “I love you and if you want a wedding, I want to give you one. I know I’ve been a pretty pathetic excuse for a romantic partner more often than not, but to me? There’s no one else but you, Scully. And I know that you know that. But if you wanted it, I never rescinded the offer. Ball’s still in your court.”

“Mulder, I love you. We’re husband and wife. And even if the rings we wear were never exchanged before an authority on the matter, that doesn’t change anything for me. I don’t need it. Maybe once, long, long ago. Long before you ever asked – and _don’t_ tell me you were serious, because I _know_ that you weren’t – maybe I wanted that. But I don’t anymore.”

The hand that he’d left gripping the shift stick reached blindly for hers; she took it and squeezed, rubbing her thumb against the soft skin there.

“Did you mean it, though?”

“Mean what?” he asked, voice soft, almost hesitant.

“Taking my name.”

He shrugged, cheeks colouring a little and she found herself touched by his unanticipated embarrassment. “I mean, maybe I’d have kept ‘Fox’, because ‘Mulder Scully’ sounds even worse – no offense.”

“None taken.”

“But yeah, Scully. I’d have been honoured to.”

“Mulder?”

“Yeah?”

“Do _you_ want to get married?”

“I already am, Scully.” The warmth in his tone was palpable, and she squeezed his hand again, before they both descended into silence once more.

**Same Day, Eagle Nest Lake State Park, Eagle Nest, New Mexico**

Upon arriving at Eagle’s Nest Lake, the weather had taken a turn to the extreme. Fires had already been raging in Colorado, and it certainly felt to Scully as though the air itself, though dry, was boiling. The back of her shirt was stuck to her spine with sweat and the short locks of her copper hair (at least, those escaped the tiny pony-tail she’d only been able to manage with clips) were damply clinging at her neck. As soon as Mulder parked across from the visitor’s center, she eased her feet out the window, slipping them back into her flip flops before popping the door open. Muscles sore, she stepped out stiffly, immediately setting to some stretches. When she twisted her body sideways towards the truck, she caught Mulder, who had also gotten out, watching her with dark eyes.

“See something you like?” she asked, coyly.

He waggled his eyebrows. “Always.”

Well. Wasn’t he charming?

“So,” Scully continued, as she reached down to touch her toes, “where’s this Mesa at?”

“Oh, another hour or so by car.”

Confused, she looked up at him sardonically before bending back into the cab to get her hiking boots. From the opposite side, he grabbed his own bag. “What do you mean? Why are we here if it’s not here?”

“Oh…” Mulder trailed off. “Because I thought you deserved a _lake_ first.”

“A _lake_.”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“You thought I ‘deserved a lake’.”

“Congratulations, you’ve passed your hearing test with flying colours, Ms. Scully.” Somewhere along the line, his incessant need to sass her had teetered from annoying into endearing, and then back to the precipice where it remained dependent upon her mood at the given moment.

“Mulder, I’m serious, what on earth is this about?”

He made a face, then pulled back up and out of the cab with his bag and rounded the bed. Forgoing her boots, Scully stood back up too, leaning against the side with her arms crossed. He stopped to loom before her. “It’s hotter ‘an hell out here, Scully, and you’re getting upset that we’re not going to the spooky mesa right away?”

He made _no_ sense. None whatsoever.

“What is up with you?” She couldn’t banish the quizzical look from her face by herself, but then he leaned down and kissed her chastely on the lips. That had always been an effective way of not only shutting her up, but shutting off her brain as well. When he pulled back, he was smiling, and the sun haloed him from behind.

“Relax Scully.” He was true-blue-cool as always, even with beads of sweat dotting his forehead and soaking in a t shape down his chest. “The mesa isn’t going anywhere.”

No, it wasn’t. “Neither is the lake.”

“But it’s a _lake_ ,” he emphasized. “And we’ve been in a car for three and a half hours. And before that, we’ve been stuck in suburbia. I packed your swimsuit, by the way. The new one that you said was supposed to be teal.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhmm,” he hummed, reaching out his hands to rub up and down her upper arms with gentle pressure. “You, me, a lake…in a bikini…”

“Hmm, not sure what I think of that image. You’re not exactly the right build for a bikini, Mulder, but I guess if it’s what makes you happy…” A bark of laughter left him, and before she knew it, she was grinning again like mad, feeling all of twenty, her heart fluttering in her chest.

And if it was less in response to his charms and physical closeness, and more from nervous tension as the clock _tick-tick-ticked_ its way ever closer to annihilation, to losing him, to losing summer and swimming, bikinis and road trips, she chose to ignore it.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m hungry, Mulder. You know how I get when I’m hungry.”

“I do. Which is why I’m going to go into that Visitor’s center and find us the nearest eat joint. Lickety-split, Honey, I promise.”

“And this is why I love you.” Putting her hands against his chest, she raised herself on her tip toes to kiss him – little more than a peck, but still enough. “Get me some more water, too, would you? I’m going to walk around a little.”

“Stretch out those little Scully legs. Good plan.”

With a puff of fond exasperation, she rolled her eyes at the quip. She watched appreciatively him from behind as he walked away. His ass in basketball shorts was not quite as attractive as it was in a nice pair of jeans or slacks, but it was still his ass. And it was a nice ass, to boot. A sexy man with a great ass who called her honey unironically, cooked her dinner, took her on surprise actual vacations, and couldn’t shut up about conspiracy theories. Smiling wryly, she shook her head. Definitely not the worst thing that could have happened to her.

The vastness of the velvet black sky amazed her, still. Years of living in places where the light pollution hid even the most obtrusive stars made it so. Scully stared out over the placid water, where the stars were reflected in its mirrored surface, and sighed. Behind her, the regular lift and fall of a strong chest.

“Mulder.” The crystalline quiet shattered, even with her whisper. “You said you wanted to pursue one last case. I’m not sure that this passes for a case by anyone’s standards. We’re laying in the back of the truck in this ridiculous two person sleeping bag. We stargazed. We drank beer. We even made out like a couple of randy teenagers. The only thing that could make this more cliché would be if the Hook Man came knocking.”

“Hook Man can’t knock, Scully.” Sleep graveled his voice attractively.

“You know what I mean.”

Soothingly, the rumble of his low chuckle vibrated against her back. “ ‘s a great excuse to get some tail.”

“Hardy har, har.” Even with her back to him, she could tell that he was smiling softly. “No really, Mulder. A lake, a restaurant. A real vacation. What’s this all about?” She wasn’t sure why she asked when she already knew what the answer was going to be.

Warm and comforting, his arms tightened about her. “I want to make love to you, Scully,” he whispered into her hair. “I want to make love with you as much as we can.”

She turned in his embrace, placing a hand gently on his cheek, rough with stubble, wet with streaking tears. In the darkness, his eyes were only gleaming slivers of light given life by the moon. “Then make love to me, Mulder. Make love to me because it’s the end of the world. Make love to me because we’re together.”

In the intensity of night, she kissed him. There was purpose in that kiss. Not that there wasn’t otherwise. They had kisses for morning, kissing for leaving for work, kisses for making lunch, and kisses for making up. Kisses for remembering William and kisses for missing one another. They had kisses for going to bed and kisses for going away.

It was a kiss for hope.

A kiss for saying, not goodbye, but until we meet again.

Like he had so many times before – although outside on public property was a new one – he filled her completely, surrounded her, kept her, loved her, made her his over and over again until they were spent from their endeavours, feeling the aching of their age, not the randy teenagers to which she’d alluded in physicality at least.

Not for the first time, she wondered what he was like in youth. Gawky, lean, and long limbed. Handsome but too weird for most of the girls to put up with.

Damaged goods.

A diamond in the rough.

Frankly, he’d probably been insufferable, and Scully found herself giggling into his sweat-slick shoulder, hugging him down to her tightly. The nylon of the sleeping bag chafed uncomfortably beneath them, and the hard plastic under shell of the truck bed rubbed persistently at her spine, but their legs were tangled together, and he was still within her. She squeezed her muscles playfully, devilishly, laughing as she elicited from him a ragged gasp and a whine. Even beneath him, she was powerful. Even above her, he could be weak.

“I’m an old man, Scully. I may be a prized racehorse, but I can’t keep up with you anymore.”

“Lies, Mulder. All lies. That’s what you have such lovely hands and such a persistent oral fixation for.”

Chuckling lewdly, he smoothed his large palm seductively up her calf to her thigh from her ankle, which was hooked up over his, and then, of course, the beam of a flashlight severed the darkness.

“Sir? Ma’am? Excuse me, but uh…”

She couldn’t help herself.

She laughed.

A thousand teenage misbehaviours, every cigarette butt snubbed out on the underside of the porch railing, the long healed belly button piercing, the black and red plaid jumper-all shorts that were nearly up to her ass cheeks, the time she let Tommy Dahlquist get to second base at that beach party in San Diego…nothing compared to this. The youthful catholic schoolgirl was flushed and terrorized, but the woman…the woman laughed, vibrant and unstoppable.

As though he were miles away, she heard Mulder’s faint protest over her raucous laughter. “Sorry, officer. It’s our anniversary. The wife here, she just can’t get enough. You understand.”

Punctuating his statement, she threaded her hands through his hair and tugged. She was unrestrained, she was unbowed. She was untamed – a ferocious being. A mother, a wife. Daughter, sister, friend.

Woman.

“It won’t happen again officer. You can, uh, actually take me on my word for that. I’m almost fifty-one. Believe me, I crossed the finish line once already and I don’t have any more in me today.”

It was positively vulgar. She loved it. She loved him. She laughed again.

She was losing her mind.

“You folks, uhh, you just keep it PG okay?”

“Right. Sorry for the disturbance.”

“Uh, happy anniversary.”

“Thank you. That’s very nice of you to say. Sorry about this, really.”

There was no way in hell that anyone thought he sounded sorry. Scully loosed her hands from his hair and raked her nails down Mulder’s back. He flinched, suppressing a moan. Who was she, this vicious creature? Who had she become? Where was demure, professional Dana Scully? Had she ever existed? Could she be a simultaneous being with the wild woman who so frantically clung to her lover beneath only the cover of night?

The flashlight quickly bobbed away and faded into the blackness and Scully pulled Mulder in closer, her lips against his ear.

“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, Mulder, oh, oh Mulder.” A litany of his name left her lips and though they parted, they still curled into one another, sharing breath and space and life between them with kisses and quiet, breathy laughs as they mapped one another with their hands, less sexually and more sensually. A roadmap home for the aftermath that was to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weather for that Monday because I have no control: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o5RB6SCjZew  
> 


	18. Tuesday, June 26th, 2012 Urraca Mesa, Colfax County, New Mexico

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of the minific

**Tuesday, June 26 th, 2012 Urraca Mesa, Colfax County, New Mexico**

The extreme heat was beginning to weight them down. Mulder hefted his backpack, shifting the weight a bit. Hiking like this was far different than anything they’d done in the field, but it felt good to be outside, surrounded by nothing but the grandness of the world, teeming with life, but quiet of technology, of human ambience.

Save Scully of course, who stopped every few paces to groan about her back.

“Why did we sleep in a truck bed last night, Mulder? _Why?_ Why did I agree to that? Everything was going _so_ well until I said it wasn’t really camping if there was a mattress!”

“Don’t look at me!” he threw back at her, so of course she had to physically look, if only the glare. “What! It was your feminine wiles that got to me, Scully. We didn’t have to do the _nasty_ last night. That was _all_ you.”

“It takes two to tango, Mulder.”

And tango they had.

Something had gotten into her the day before. Maybe it was the heat, leaving her irritated, or maybe it was something else – definitely _not_ menopause; he still had the nail marks on his back to prove that – but whatever it was, Scully had let loose and now she was nursing it like a hangover. Admittedly, they were also hiking for the first time in years, which could have had something to do with it.

They’d gone soft. A sedentary existence made up the last nearly four years, with little more than leisurely walks and the occasional use of the university pool – perks of being a professor – to fill in for the many years they had spent literally on the run: from monsters, from shadowy government agents, from aliens. You name it, they’d run from it.

And to each other.

He was fifty, almost fifty-one. He was allowed to be a sap about how much he loved his wife.

And that was another thing. The whole marriage conversation…Mulder watched as Scully swept the hat from her head, pushing back sweat into the flyaway strands of her hair, before replacing it. From above the backstrap, a pointed tuft of short copper hair stuck out straight from her head like paintbrush bristles. Not that he’d ever tell her; even though he thought it was cute, she’d hate the comparison. Some things never changed, and oddly, Scully had always had a sort of subtle concern about her appearance that seemed at first to be uncharacteristic. Only occasionally did it rear its head anymore, but then she did have him worshipping her every day, not to mention ogling her.

Turnabout was fair game, after all. Just that morning, still high on the illicitness of their previous evening, she’d slapped his ass as he got into the truck.

God, he loved her.

He loved her _especially_ when she complained.

Sweet Scully whining, her nose scrunched up, her brows lifted inwards, petulantly pouting to get her own way. The bane of being a middle child. The bane of having been the baby of the family for a certain length of time.

“My back will never be the same, Mulder. I wish I’d had that ice cream cone before we left this morning. God, I’d kill for an ice cream right about now. Ice cream makes everything better.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhmm.”

“You know what kind of ice cream I’d like right now?” If she had looked, she would have seen the mischief in his eyes.

“Mm-mmm. What kind?”

“I’m thinking _strawberry-cream_.” He pulled the words out slowly, like sticky sweet syrup, the innuendo unmistakable. Despite her complaining, he could tell she was in a good mood. Good natured complaining was _very_ different from _real_ complaining. “Gonna lick it up, right from the source.”

She shivered. She actually shivered. His ego compounded times five and he smiled in utter self-satisfaction, the cat who had quite literally got the cream.

“You’re disgusting.” She made a gagging expression unbecoming of her dignified bearing. But then, he’d seen her stick her tongue out more than once. Dana Scully was a certified wild woman when she wanted to be. “You give Neanderthal a bad name.”

“That’s not what you were saying last night.”

“Don’t start.”

There wasn’t a ounce of punch behind her words, but he let off anyways, lengthening his stride just a bit to catch her up; lagging behind always provided a nice view, but it was even better to slip his hand into hers and squeeze gently.

“You think that Scout Leader’s going to call the cops on me?”

“For what, Mulder?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. Something made up maybe? He definitely didn’t like our reason for coming here.”

“Maybe that’s because he thinks you’re certifiable. Hell, I’ve seen what I’ve seen and sometimes I _still_ think you’re certifiable. He just wants his camp to be an attraction for a positive reason, Mulder, not a negative one. If people are afraid, they’re not going to send their kids to camp. Besides, didn’t you tell me that you’d read that they weren’t fans of - ”she coughed, “ ‘crackpot conspiracy theorists and supernatural nutjobs’?”

He elected to ignore her last point. They both new full well that he’d said as much. “Well, maybe that’s not a bad thing, not enrolling the kids, I mean. If people have reason to be afraid, isn’t it smarter to keep the kids at home?”

“Only if there’s actually something verifiably dangerous about the place. Nature is by definition a dangerous place and part of scouting is learning to live successfully within that environment. And the scouts don’t go onto the mesa proper, so there’s really nothing more unsafe about this scout camp than any other. That is, unless we can quantify this supposed ‘danger’. Frankly, I think it just comes down to superstition. If we’ve learned anything on the X-Files, it’s that all the wrong people flock to places with stories like the one belonging to this mesa, and all the right sort of people stay away.” Scully shook her head. “Really, I don’t blame him in the least.”

“I…can’t argue with that, actually.” For once. “That’s pretty sound reasoning, except for the fact, of course, that there tends to at least be some rooted veracity to the claims being made. If our time on the X-Files has _proven_ anything, it’s that. Now, we may find that the –“ Mulder waved his free hand in the air, waiting for the right words. “ – that the supposed ghost of this Anasazi warrior is the product of long days spent lost and delirious on the mesa, or the overstimulated imaginations of hippies who got high before heading out in the summer of _lo-ve_ , or kids terrified out of their uniforms because they saw some sort of freaky natural phenomena. But none of that precludes the possibility that there is something genuinely unsettling about this location, that some unknowable force has made its home in a place that is already unnatural, a, a, a distinguished feature of the landscape. Ultimately, many of the stories told about this place were originated independently of one another. People who didn’t even share the same language reported the same sights, the same otherworldly encounters! Tell me that there’s no truth in that, Scully. Not even the slightest modicum.”

She never could resist the challenge. It thrilled her, he knew, to set those gear in her brain whirring to unchecked motion.

Thin lipped, Scully sent him a sideways glance. “That may very well be true, Mulder, but mass hallucination could account for some of those instances, and the rest could be explained fairly easily by certain natural weather phenomenon frequent to this area because of the particular nature of the landscape, just as you said. There’s absolutely no reason that this can’t be explained by something wholly natural which a variety of people attempted to explain in their own, most plausible way. And there’s no accounting for independent ideation – there’s absolutely nothing that says that some Navajo individual couldn’t have learned enough English, or an English settler enough Navajo to communicate that original story, resulting it its spread. Even if they did keep a record of the situation, its unlikely to be preserved anywhere, but doesn’t mean that it didn’t or couldn’t have happened.”

“Plausible,” he replied thoughtfully. “Probable even. Put probability isn’t enough to determine the truth, and that’s what we’re here for, Scully.”

“The truth.” She always responded to that particular prompt blandly, and he knew better than to take it seriously.

“Yep, the truth.”

It didn’t matter of course, or maybe it did. Maybe it really, really did matter that they take on one last case, that they attempt to solve the unsolvable, that they try to make heads or tails of the unexplainable one last time.

Regardless, it felt good to banter again, to play off of one other, to pretend to be exasperated with one another.

It was like a crash course in Mulder and Scully Foreplay, 101.

  1. Propose impossible scenario
  2. Have impossible scenario refuted
  3. Counter argue rational explanation
  4. Have counter-argument counter-argued
  5. Agree to disagree until further evidence can be uncovered
  6. Repeat



It got him all hot and bothered in the heart. An overwhelming, overflowing feeling of adoration. Sure, it was silly to be so worked up over something so simple, but he remembered how he’d fallen in love with her. How diminutive she’d looked upon walking into his basement office, how she’d held her tenable gaze when she looked up at him, without fear, without shame, how she matched him word for word. How she hadn’t dismissed him, but had given credence to his theories by supplying him with her own. He loved every moment of it, every single moment over the years, and he could remember much of it well, cherished it within his heart.

The day she stopped arguing with him was the day she was dead. Or not really Scully at all.

“Hey honey?” he asked, breaking the case-like mood with the informal endearment.

“Yes?”

She didn’t have a pet name for him. Mulder was somehow a pet name in its own right, and though he’d never said anything to her about it, he noticed long ago that she only called him Fox after he’d already called her Dana, like it was some sort of keyword making it clear that it was acceptable to use their first names in any given moment. He’d slipped into ‘honey’ easily over the years, because it was everything that his parents had never been, everything he’d wanted them to be. Everything he’d hoped to have someday. Everything he never thought he would have. As far as probabilities went, that had been a small one, and yet somehow, some way, he’d ended up with the love of his life.

On his worst days, he considered that William had been the price of their few happy years.

All told, he had a lot of worst days.

But he wasn’t going to let their abrupt vacation become another in a slew of bad weeks. Carefree – or as near to it as physically possible – Mulder swung their clasped hands back and forth. “This is nice, right?”

“This is nice as in ‘investigating a haunted mesa is nice’ or this is nice as in ‘us taking a hike is nice’?”

He shrugged. “Is ‘all of the above’ a valid answer, Doctor Scully? I have to know for sure before I mark it on my Scantron. I don’t want to have to erase it and risk it recording incorrectly.” Every quip was worth the wry grins they elicited, despite how corny they invariably were. Getting her to smile a genuine smile was better than winning the lottery. It always had been, but he only started to truly value them after she was returned from her abduction, as it was only then that he understood what he had nearly lost. “Honestly, it’s just nice to spend some time together the good old fashioned way. We’ve been so far from what we used to be these past couple of years. It’s kind of exciting to return to it.”

“You miss it?” He couldn’t tell from her tone if it was surprised or accusatory, or something altogether different. Whatever it was, he somehow felt that his answer would have more bearing on her mood for the rest of the trip than even she was aware.

So, he answered the only way he could. Honestly.

“Sometimes. If things were back the way they used to be, that would mean that nothing ever had cause to change. Sometimes, I think that would be easier. Better. But not always.” Clasped together, their hands provided him a tether. It was too big of a thing to say while walking, so he stopped them in their tracks. “Having William changed us. Changed me. I knew who I was, who we were supposed to be together. It was going to be the simplest most difficult thing I ever did. I was going to be a dad. And we were going to be Mom and Dad. And without him, without the X-Files to fill that empty space, to give me a reason, a purpose greater than us, more than just myself…without that I didn’t know who I was supposed to be. What I was supposed to do.” Lifting Scully’s hand, he pressed it to his lips in a tender kiss. “When I held him in my arms, I knew that I wasn’t going to miss anything, leaving the X-Files. The only thing worth missing was the two of you.”

“And without him?”

He knew she didn’t like to talk about William. She never had.

Pressing his lips together thinly, he considered her words. “You know I love you Scully. I’ve said it more times than I can count in the past forty-eight hours alone. I wouldn’t give up the life we’ve built for all the saucers in all the skies on this earth or any other. One in five-billion, remember?”

“How could I forget?”

“Just making sure. Never know what disappears from your brain during all the missing time we’ve accumulated over the years.”

She snorted. Mulder decided to count it as a win.

The mesa itself was 8583 feet in elevation. With steep sides covered in a breadth of rough foliage –suffering in the heat, even for an arid locale, and reddish soil in gradient layers of tan and orange, the formation made for a fantastical sight as they had made their way up to it. From the sloping pathways, at turns densely packed with pines and spare of anything green at all, the real treat was the view. From behind them, the sky was a deep blue in the height of summer and the clouds light and fluffy above the sprawling expanse of the New Mexican shrubland. Ahead, the various peaks of the New Mexican Rockies dipped, delved and rose grandiose. Most auspicious was the Tooth of Time, a veritable monolith in granite which rose higher even than the mesa by some 500 feet, which could just be seen from the ridge where it protruded.

Not only had the Scout Camp officials been upset with them for the reason of their trip, there was the added element of the extreme heat. Drought conditions were effecting most of the state, though the particular region of Colfax in which the mesa was located was only seeing moderate conditions, really on the rather low end compared to the rest of the state. If they had stayed in Roswell, Mulder know, they’d be currently in the middle of the most extreme weather in the state – the point of drought so high that they’d been issued special water usage instructions. Good thing they never bothered to water their lawns. It always seemed a little bit like an exercise in futility, and Mulder was already engaged in enough such activities to last him a lifetime – if they lived that long.

Curating the yard just didn’t seem that important.

So yeah, it was stupid to head up to the mesa in moderate drought conditions at ninety-some degrees Fahrenheit, but they were armed with…

Well, water. They pretty much had water and sunscreen to protect Scully’s fair skin. And as the day wore on, the heat grew more intense.

“Mulder this is _insane_. Why are we doing this? We could die out here and all our work would be for nothing. Let’s just go back.” Scully paused to take a long draught from her water bottle. “Please? Can we just go back to the lake or something?”

“We’re nearly to the top. Just a quick peek, Scully? Just to satisfy and then we can go back.”

“Fine. But it better be a really damned quick peek, Mulder, I am not kidding. I love you, but not enough to die of heatstroke.”

A terrible traitorous part of him felt it would be kinder if she did – not that he wanted that at all, of course, but there were worse things.

He knew because he could remember them.

The last few steps to the top were grueling, but they made it, chests heaving and breathes harsh under the unrelenting power of the afternoon sun. Both pulled out water bottles, guzzling the refreshing drink for a good long while. When Mulder looked down, pulling the bottle away to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, Scully was gone.

“Scully?” He turned in a full circle, scouting the great flat expanse around him to no avail. “Scully!” The water bottle hit the ground with a metallic clink.

Panicking, Mulder rushed once more to the edge, fearful that she’d fallen, but it was as though she had simply vanished. Heart pounding, he put his hands to his head nervously, the light dimming as a life without her flashed before his eyes.

“You will not find her this moment, _Tùxwána_. You are beyond her reach.”

Struck by the voice, low, ancient, but somehow soft around the smoky gravel of the tone, Mulder turned to see a woman standing behind him, impassively. With awe, he took in the sight, his anxiety abruptly dissipating as a coolness – like water almost, dripping too slowly – came over him. Everything about her glowed with a blue light, but it was clear that she was Native American. Her long braided hair was white, he assumed, through the eerie aura, but her face was smooth and young. Contrastingly, her eyes were hard.

“Come, _Tùxwána_.” She held out her hand. “Come see with me.”

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice equally low and soft. He _wanted_ to panic. There was _something_ he was supposed to be panicking about, but he couldn’t remember what. Opening his mind, he sought her out, but found only a vast emptiness around him. Not even the feeble minds of bugs and birds were within reach. It was as though he was the only living thing in this world. His heartrate remained steady and sure.

The woman eyed him closely and smirked, as if she knew what he had tried and failed to do. Unease rippled through him, but could not take hold.

“I am the Guard. I remained behind to keep watch. Now you will see what I see, _Tùxwána.”_

“What does that mean?”

“It is you. Come now. Come and see with me.”

Powerless to deny the growing urge within him, Mulder followed her deeper across the mesa.

“Mulder!” Scully bounced on the balls of her feet nervously. “Mulder! This isn’t funny anymore! Come on out! We are at the top and now it’s about time we headed back down. It’s too hot to –“ but even as she was saying the words, Scully realized that it wasn’t too hot. In fact, it was quite cool. Like stepping into the morgue, or something. Disconcerted, Scully turned in a circle again, taking in her surroundings. No longer was the sun so bright that she was squinting even though her sunglasses. The sky had darkened to a deep frigid blue, and more and more dark grey clouds were rolling in. Giant drops of rain fell in slow motion from the sky. Amorphous, she caught one in the palm of her hand, holding it there as if suspended.

“What on ea-“

“ _Phà’áne Kána,_ it is not too late.” The voice was soft. Tender. Scully wanted to turn, but felt paralyzed. A hand grasped her elbow. “It is not too late. Come. Come see with me, and learn all that you need.”

As the hand pulled her along, Scully saw the young man. At least, he appeared young, though he was Native American to be sure. Bare chested with long dark hair and youthful muscles, he was the picture of an Adonis, but his face was weathered as though he had seen a thousand and one years of the same weather which had so rapidly changed. His smile was feather soft, reaching eyes which she saw where wholly white; he was blind.

“Come _see_ with you?” she asked, feeling at once foolish and rude. “I don’t understand. Where’s Mulder?”

The molasses rainfall surrounded him, rolling off of him instead of splattering, giving a soft blue hue to his deeply tanned skin.

“He has gone beyond now, where all who seek to contest the darkness must.”

“I seek to contest the darkness, too. Show me where he is!” she demanded. “Show me now.”

“Oh, _Phà’áne Kána,_ true sight is not with eyes. _Tùxwána_ sees with his mind. You must see with your heart.

“I don’t know what you mean! Wha-who is T-tuw…” she blustered – or attempted to. She was woozy. Languid. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He only shook his aged head and smiled. “Come now. Come and see with me.”

The insistent hand remained at her elbow and Scully allowed him to compel her forward, farther and farther from the edge, but she looked over her shoulder for Mulder all the same.

He was never there.

The uneasy feeling living in his stomach was growing. Mulder followed the Guard without question, but the fear and desperation hadn’t dissipated, though they were muted, growing as if beneath a cover to keep distance between he and his emotions.

“Where are we going?”

“We are going to see.”

“See physically, or see…metaphysically?”

“So full of questions, _Tùxwána_.” She paused, appraising him momentarily. “You are aptly named. Curious and clever. Come, and I will show you.” Waving him forward, she held out her hand and he took it deliberately. It was wrinkled and boney in his grasp. “Look there. We have reached the gateway. See how it descends?”

Shaking his head, he turned back to her, and then remembered her words, closing his eyes.

Everything was open to him and he saw.

“I don’t remember this on the topographical map.” Even his voice was slow, as if he’d been drugged, but the world around him was acutely clear; without his eyes the hazy smoke of the place faded and high definition took its place. His mind knew what his eyes did not. The ancient crevasse looked newly carved, sharp edges nicked out with menial tools – a labour not undertaken lightly. The deeper it went, the darker it got, but he could see within it anyways. Shapes, shivering and flickering in the depths darted and snarled, their fists pounding on the barrier that kept them physically at bar. A barrier that Mulder’s mind transgressed without difficulty. The beyond was within reach.

“You are _Tùxwána,_ like those who go before you. You will descend as you will ascend. It must be you. Down into the deep. That is where you are at home. In the grime and the muck. You are strong. You will not falter, even when they dig at you with their talons. You will go on.”

His heart was racing – and it wasn’t racing. His breath was rabbit quick – and it was ice slow.

The world was dark and light, and the barrier was open and closed.

“I will go on.”

“Yes, _Tùxwána,_ you will. You must. That fate of the world depends on it.”

“Where are we going?” Scully asked, wishing her voice could convey the urgency she felt.

It didn’t.

“I want to see Mulder! You said –“ but she stopped, because it occurred to her that the young old man had never actually said anything about Mulder. Her protests felt weak, and her heart felt fragile. “I want to see him, please.”

“You see with your heart, _Phà’áne Kána._ ” Even though she felt like it ought to be disconcerting, his words reassured her anyways. “ _Tùxwána_ is here, but he is beyond. He sees with the mind. That is why you cannot see one another. Come now. Look, for there are more worlds than the one you can hold in your hand .”

Puzzling over the cryptic words, agonizingly familiar and oddly soothing, Scully stumbled forward anyways, before pitching back in fright. Only half a foot in distance from her, the ground had given way into a steep sloping pit, its sides worn smooth by time. At first, it appeared endless, but the closer she looked, the clearer it became that the pit ended, a little like a volcano, in a matte black shelf of pitch. 

“This is the gateway. You are the new Guard. You will remain here. You are the barrier, strong and stern, you are _Phà’áne Kána,_ fierce and impassable. It must be you. You are the protector. Those who will try and breach the gateway will burn with your wrath. You will let no one in. You will let no one out.”

Fire leapt up around the jagged edges of the crevasse, burnishing the black darker and chalkier.

“I will let no one in. I will let no one out.”

“Yes, _Phà’áne Kána_. You will. You must. The fate of the world depends upon it.”

From the sky, the rain suddenly descended in sheets, barraging the mesa with righteous fury. From the ground, simultaneously, the rain ascended back into the sky. The clouds parted.

Across the mesa, a young white buffalo calf ran, a cloud low on the horizon, before disappearing beyond sight of heart or of mind.

“ –ey’re waking up!”

“Good, now I can kill them both. Jesus, what’s with these nuts? It’s just about the hottest day of the goddamned year and in a _drought_ and they go and get themselves lost and dehydrated on the goddamned mesa of all places…”

Mulder groaned, blinking his eyes open. Despite the voices, he half expected to see the woman’s spirit in front of him, looking down benignly, but there was only an exasperated looking EMT next to a truly pissed off looking Scout Troop Leader. A very familiar looking pissed off Scout Troop Leader.

“Don’t blame her. Blame me,” he said, groaning a little. “I’m the dumb nut.”

Beside him, he heard more than saw Scully shift into consciousness. She giggled a little, half lucid. “You’re a dumb nut!”

“Very funny, Dana.”

The Troop Leader scowled and stalked off, leaving them with the EMT, who only rolled his eyes. “Your decision to go out. Not anyone else’s. Stupid decision, but still yours to make freely. Anyways, you’re properly rehydrated, so as soon as we get you unhooked from the IV’s, we’ll let you off. Happens every once in a while. No big deal.”

Scully sobered up. Mulder knew it, because she slugged him in the arm. “I feel like crap. Why’d I let you convince me that this was a good idea? Some vacation, Anthony.”

Very with it, then. “Sorry, honey. You know how it is. I get excited, and I give you my big green puppy-dog eyes and you get all soft and gooey inside.”

“Oh is that how it works?”

“Mhmm.” He turned to the EMT. “Sorry about this, really. How long were we up there? Feels like…”

An age.

An eon.

“Feels like a long time.”

The EMT shrugged. “No skin off my back. Just uh, learn your lesson, okay?”

“Lesson learned. I’ll be on the couch for a month.”

Scully snorted. Even though she said nothing, he knew exactly what it meant. The couch wasn’t punishment, so much as was being apart from her.

With their IV’s removed, the EMT let them return to their truck. Inside, both doors slamming shut simultaneously. They sat in silence for a while, staring first ahead and before slowly turning to one another.

“Did you-?”

“Were you-?”

They both let out heavy breaths.

“There was a woman. A young Native American woman. She took me to a place on the mesa where the ground gave way to a deep crevasse and she showed me that it was sealed off, but I could see beyond the barrier, Scully. I could see the things in the darkness. She told me I had to go there, Scully. That I had to.”

“Sure she did Mulder. And I saw dancing ice cream cones singing ‘It’s a Small World’,” she said, voice thick with sarcasm. “We had heat stroke and massive levels of dehydration. Whatever we saw was nothing more than the hallucinatory biproducts of our physical state.”

“So you did see something then?” Eager as always, he picked up on shift in her tone, and she scowled at him, even though she knew he would never use his ability on her.

“Yes. I saw something. But it wasn’t real, Mulder. It wasn’t real.”

“What is reality but the total sum of what we see and believe?” he retorted. “You have to see with your heart, Scully, if you want things to be clear.”

The words, dropped so carelessly in the conversation, spooked her, but Mulder appeared not to notice. He threw the truck into gear, oblivious to the stiff way in which she sat.

“Back to the lake?”

“Mmm.”

“You okay, Honey?”

“I’m fine, Mulder.” Inwardly, she cursed herself for the phrase. If he hadn’t already been able to see through her before, he would certainly be able to now.

**That Night, Eagle Nest Lake State Park, Eagle Nest, New Mexico**

“How did you know, Mulder?”

Scully was curled in his arms in the back of the truck once again – this time with two blankets beneath them. Worn from their ordeal, and unwilling to risk the ire of the park guard from the night before, they hadn’t engaged in any more rigorous activity. The sleeping bag was at their waists, and his body provided most of her warmth. He’d always been a space heater, but she didn’t mind. It was good to be held. Good to be safe and comfortable in his strong arms, when she knew all too well that they would be apart so soon.

Only a matter of months.

“Know what, Scully?”

“What he said to me.”

It was easier to tell him things in the dark, her fears hidden behind the mask of night.

“He who? Did you see this person earlier today?”

“He looked young, but he was old and blind. He told me that I would have to see with my heart, Mulder. You told me the same thing. How did you know?”

It could be surface thoughts, she knew. Sometimes when she was broadcasting something, he picked up her thoughts without even knowing it. It was rare, but it did happen occasionally.

Mulder only shrugged his arms around her. “I don’t. At least, I don’t think so. Do you want to talk about it?”

“He called me something. I don’t know how to even pronounce it. Something Native American. I don’t know. He said that I was the new Guard. The protector. I saw the crevasse, too, but it was sealed shut. And surrounded by fire. He said that it would be my duty not to let anyone in or out.” She shook her head. “And it was more than that. I’ve thought about it the whole day long. Mulder… he spoke Albert Hosteen’s words to me. ‘There are more worlds than the one you can hold in your hand.’ None of this makes sense. I don’t know what I saw, Mulder. I don’t know.”

“I think we saw what we needed to see. The woman I was with, I tried to read her. But it was like she wasn’t even there. Like a void or something. And then, I swear I saw…”

“A white buffalo calf.”

“Yes.”

“I saw it, too.”

“What does it mean?” She asked, rolling in his grip to face him. The expression he wore was grave. “Mulder? What is it?”

“Do you remember when I nearly died of exposure, and that buried train car full of alien remains?”

“Of course.” She narrowed her eyes, recalling that first terrifying time she’d sincerely had cause to think him dead. “What about it?”

“Well, Albert told me this story, after he and the others healed me, so long ago. That a white buffalo had been born on the same day. It isn’t a Navajo tradition, the story of the White Buffalo Woman, but he said it was such a strong sign that he considered it significant. That it’s a portent of change.” There was a long pause, and when he spoke again, his voice was very low. “William meant that in so many different ways. To me. To us.” He paused. “To the world.”

Taken aback, Scully blinked rapidly, gathering her thoughts before answering. “You think that the white buffalo we saw was William? You think it means William?”

“Maybe.” Mulder’s forehead was creased, and his eyes contemplative. “I’m not sure that’s something for which we can know an answer. But its important. What happened to us, whether was real or not, it means something, Scully, and we can’t ignore it. We never could.”

“Can’t it wait just a little longer?”

“A few more days maybe, until the heat goes down in Roswell. What do you say, honey? A real vacation.”

“No. One last case. It’s over now. And no matter how much I want it to wait, I know that it won’t.”

“I love you.”

He always said it when she needed to hear it the most.

“I love you, too.”

“One more night, honey.” He kissed her softly. “One more night. Two. Three. December will be here soon enough.”

There was still time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, weather for that Tuesday: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6n9mKEiAXLk


	19. Journal – December 2012

**Journal – December 2012**

_It has come to this._

_When I was young, I believed in many things. I believed in Santa Claus, and in the tooth fairy, and the boogieman. When I was young, I believed that my father was invincible, that it was normal for families to move every year or so. That little girls were all secretly tomboys, and that my brothers came from Mars._

_I believed that God was with me, listening to my prayers._

_It has come to this._

_Although I have striven to be a level-headed, rational individual, although the experiences which followed me from high school through medical school taught me otherwise, the irrational has once more become the foundation of my beliefs._

_We are so close to the end now, that I can taste it._

_Ever since my time in Africa searching for a cure to Mulder’s ravaged mind, ever since I found that ship, I have questioned all that I believed. Now, it makes me think more deeply than ever. I don’t know what to believe anymore. There is a passage in the bible – Revelations, which is usually regarded in reasonable catholic circles as ‘sensationalist’ – that talks about two witnesses to the apocalypse, to whom God will grant the authority to prophesy, for a rather specific ‘one thousand two hundred and sixty days. Nearly three and a half years. I could have done the math, but I googled it. I’ve grown lazy with little things like that. I don’t know why._

_Three and a half years, it says. “And if anyone wants to harm them, fire pours from their mouth and consumes their foes; anyone who wants to harm them must be killed in this manner. They have authority to shut the sky, so that no rain may fall during the days of their prophesying, and they have authority over the waters to turn them into blood and to strike the earth with every kind of plague, as often as they desire.” And then, of course, because it’s the bible, they’re to be struck down by the Beast, hated by everyone around them, and then raised to life again – get this - three and a half days later. Immediately to be followed by an earthquake which will kill seven thousand people._

_I have wondered, sometimes, if those prophets were Mulder and I. If we’re the ones destined to bear witness, to bring further destruction upon the world due to our ‘great mission’. If we’d help to ensure more deaths than we would succeed in saving._

_I have wondered if it’s a kindness at all, to save people only so that they may suffer longer, watch others suffer too, and then, inevitably, die a terrible death in whatever ravaged remains are left of the world._

_I have wondered if our own people will be the ones to turn on us, to slaughter us in the name of their new intergalactic overlords._

_I have wondered if we’re doing the right thing in building this resistance._

_It’s part of human nature to survive, hardwired into our genetic code. Funny, that we should have two such opposing elements present there – junk alien DNA ready to be turned on to their necessity and whim, while they prepare us as hosts, incubators, servants to their unknowable agenda. They couldn’t have chosen a worse race of people. We have survived cataclysmic global events before, changing and adapting to our climate primarily, among other things. We survive. We thrive. We infest. We are pests._

_Humans are the cockroaches of sentient life._

_There is yet another section in Revelations that has moved me, that has bewildered me, that has led me to weep. 12.1 reads “A great portent appeared in the heaven: a woman clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet and on her head a crown of twelve stars. She was pregnant and was crying out in birth pangs, in the agony of giving birth. Then another portent appeared in the heaven: a great red dragon, with seven heads and ten horns, and seven diadems on his heads. His tail swept down a third of the stars of heaven and threw them to the earth. Then the dragon stood before the woman who was about to bear a child, so that he might devour her child as soon as it was born. And she gave birth to a son, a male child, who is to rule all the nations with a rod of iron. But her child was snatched away and taken to God and to his throne; and the woman fled into the wilderness where she has a place prepared by God, so that there she can be nourished for one thousand two hundred sixty days.”_

_It’s about the second coming - Mary and Jesus, probably. Or whatever the person writing it wanted it to be about. Part of me chafes shamefully that I cannot help but recognize my own story in these words. The day of William’s birth, a multitude came to witness it as if waiting, wanting him to be what they were expecting. I still do not know why they left, or what they thought they’d find. Maybe we got lucky. Maybe it was God’s intervention which turned them away from us when William ~~is~~ was so clearly special. His abilities…_

_And then, I went into the desert. I think that these last years, these wonderful, terrible, normal and yet wholly abnormal years here in Roswell have been that time of nourishment._

_After, in that interminable time before we resettled in Virginia, things disintegrated so gradually, so completely, that I cannot tell when it first began. No, that’s not true. It began with the loss of William. It began when I gave him up. Statistically speaking the divorce rate among couples who have lost a child is relatively low. 16%. We did not lose our son in the manner as did those unfortunate couples, yet he is still gone from us._

_But we are no average couple. Under the extreme pressure, the poor conditions, the psycho-social and emotional pain built and grew and if we did nothing else together, we built that wall between us side by side in our abject refusal to discuss the decision._

_But we are no average couple. Even under the strain, after the extreme degradation of our relationship and the depressive states in which we found ourselves , we are here, today, together. We have persevered. We have grown. Circumstances forced us to. Maybe. Or maybe we’re just meant to be._

_I thought I’d stopped believing in true love a long time ago._

_Mulder has not always been good at breaking down my skepticisms with his impassioned and illogical arguments. Yet, he’s saved me as much as he has claimed that I’ve saved him, and I will be forever grateful for it._

_I love him._

_I’m terrified to lose him._

_But the plan is already set in motion. The steps already taken._

_I wonder at the part I have – and must continue – to play. I marvel at it. How did I find myself here? Twenty years! Twenty years more innocent. Twenty years less wise. Twenty years more proud. Twenty years less open._

_Twenty years more lonely._

_I wonder, if she and I were to pass one another on the street, if she’d recognize herself in me, if she’d even know to look._

_I feel like she is the alien within me. I don’t know her anymore. Maybe I never really knew her at all._


	20. Tuesday, December 10th 2012: 12 Days to Colonization

**Tuesday, December 10th 2012: 12 Days to Colonization**

_My heart leaps up when I behold  
A rainbow in the sky:  
So was it when my life began,  
So is it now I am a man,  
So be it when I shall grow old  
Or let me die!  
The Child is father of the Man:  
And I could wish my days to be  
Bound each to each by natural piety._

_~ William Wordsworth_

_The waves crash on the shore, relentless now. Usually they are no more violent than a blustery afternoon’s wake, but there is a dark storm brewing on the horizon, the pale grey sky deepening into something much more malicious._

_He is watching the Boy. The Boy is older now, again. He has been a babe in arms, toddling to unfamiliar people, and a child, demanding and harsh, but now he is a teen, in all forms of the word. His hair is unruly in the whipping winds and the face he makes is a stubborn one. The last time he saw the Boy, Scully joined him. He’d been insistent then too, insistent that he wasn’t doing enough to help._

_After that, the abilities returned._

_He wonders if the Boy knows who he is, what he has done._

_What he is capable of doing._

_The Boy he saw before he was even born, the Boy he saw before he was a twinkle in his parents eye._

_Tears track down the Boy’s cheeks as he turns to him._

_“I can’t stop it! I can’t stop it alone! You’re so close! Why won’t you help me? Why won’t you help?”_

_“I want to! I’m trying!” They’re yelling over the angry torrent of air. Sand whips into his face. “Tell me what else I can do. There’s so little time. Tell me what to do. Tell me what to do!”_

_The wind eats his words and the Boy screams back at him, silently, in anguish. He presses forward, but it’s too strong against him, and he’s pushed back, unable to find traction in the sand. The sandcastle spaceship on which the Boy stands is taller than he remembers._

_No._

_No, it’s rising. Rising from the sand, rising from the damaging waves. Rising into the sky._

_The Boy is crying out. He doesn’t need to read lips to understand the desperate plea._

_‘Help me! Please! Please!’_

_There is nothing he can do._

_Not anymore._

_They built the ship together, and now they are powerless to stop it._

With a shudder, Mulder came to startling Scully to wakefulness as he shot up, breaths coming rapidly.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, pawing a little at his side in encouragement as he let himself back down onto to mattress gingerly, his body aching and sore despite the fact that there was no good reason for it to be. “What happened?”

“I dreamed. I dreamed about him. I swear it’s him, Scully. I don’t know how it can be, but I swear on everything that it’s him.”

The eyes were hers, vibrantly blue, his hair, darkened over time, was still auburn, but he was tall and lean, and wore a hungry expression, like a starved dog – not for ill-treatment or lack of love, Mulder could tell, but for something else entirely. He was too real, too perfectly imperfect, for Mulder to have made him up.

If he had, he would have made the Boy carefree and happy, not distressed.

But William had only ever been the stuff of strange portential dreams, bordering on nightmarish.

“I saw him first after I was exposed to the artifact. At first, I didn’t think anything of it. I thought maybe he was me, Scully. My youthful self, ready to teach me something. But he’s the same. He’s the same as he’s always been, even now that he’s grown. I was seeing him before he was born, Scully, I’m sure of it. Now more than ever, I’m sure its him and not just…”

He chanced a look across at her, and in the pale light of the moon through their window, she looked stricken.

“…wishful thinking.”

“You’re…” Scully swallowed hard, squinching her eyes shut and Mulder braced for impact. “You’ve been dreaming of our son? And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t think it was real.”

“What changed?” There was no accusation in her tone, though it was clipped, cutting her off.

“I don’t know. I just feel it. I just do. Maybe it’s the time getting closer.” He shrugged. “Some of them may have been real, some of them may just have been dreams. After the surgery, I think they were just my desire to see them, and nothing else. Not at least until the abilities came back. I’m sorry I never told you, I didn’t want-“

“-to hurt me.” Scully fell back into the pillows herself, staring up at the ceiling. “I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be acting like this so close to…”

“To the end. I should have told you. There should be nothing left unsaid between us.” He rolled to meet her, crossing that space again, that empty space that so often attempted to wedge its way between them, and clasped her hands within his, taking them and kissing them. “I promise I don’t have anything else hidden from you. No other strange dreams. No new abilities. Just me and my love for you and our son.”

A tremulous smile attempted to peak through the tumultuous expression on her face. It was as beautiful and heart rending an expression as any he had ever seen on her face. “I have nothing in my heart hidden from you; you well know my regrets and they weigh heavy still, but I am and always will be yours. We’ve done all we can, Mulder. Now we have to wait for that love to see us through.”

“Do you believe that it will?” he asked, watching her carefully.

“I believe that it will take us as far as it can. We’ve done the rest. We’ve done all else we can.”

“It feels like there has to be more.” Scully shook her head, her short wefts of hair falling into her eyes. “There has to be something that we’re missing, don’t you think? If…if there was something else to be done, if we could-“

“Dana, Honey, there isn’t. There isn’t.” He hated when she got that way, when everything suddenly overwhelmed her and she started reaching, blaming herself. “Everything’s already in place. There’s nothing more to be d-“

Shooting forward, head suddenly splitting, the tinny angry ringing splitting through his skull like lighting. He’d never had anyone try to break into his brain before, but it certainly felt as though that was what was happening, but he had no defenses against it. The ax-like force cleaved into his skull, prying apart the weak plywood walls, laying him bare.

_-ather. Mount Weather, Mulder. Purity. You have to go. Go now. Go now, Mulder. Go now. Improve it. Improve the vaccine. Before it’s too late. Last chance, Mulder. Last chance-_

“-lder!” Scully’s hands were on his face, and he blinked rapidly, but only white filled his vision, bright, sharp and painful, akin only to the worst of his blinding headache from when the ability was new and uncontrollable. “Mulder, talk to me! What happened!? What is it?”

“ ‘ust need a minute.” His voice cracked. “Can’t see. Head hurts.”

Fingers found the back of his head, massaging there softly in his hair. “I’m going to turn a light on. When you start to see shapes, you let me know, okay?”

Nodding, unable to force words from his lips, he hunched forward, curling in on himself. Slowly, ever so slowly, the whiteout receded and light and form returned to him. Scully’s face hovered before him, large blue eyes shining with worry. “Mulder, can you see me? What happened?”

“Gibson,” he ground out. “Purity. They got it back. At Mount Weather. I have to go. Now.”

“Now?” The intake of breath that accompanied the words was sharp, cutting as a knife, and he ached at the sound, dropping himself into it, into her arms. Trembling, they came around him, tucking his head against her breast. “Now, now?”

“Yes, now.” His words were a moan; her body had never felt so comfortable as in those moments when he knew they would be forced to part. Turning his head, he listened to the beat of her heart, thrumming more quickly than usual, but still as steady and reliable as ever, and he already felt the hot sting of tears as they soaked through her shirt beneath his cheek. “If I go now, I can make it back in time for our supplies to be updated. For you to make the vaccine more effective. I know you know how. I know you can do it in time. It’s you, Scully. It’s you.”

“Mulder, I-“

“You can, Scully. You have to. I have to. We have to.” He sat up, and saw similar tears shining in her eyes. “I love you.”

“Oh, God, _Fox_.” It was Scully’s turn to surge into his arms, weeping her silent shuddering. “It’s happening. _It’s happening._ What are we going to do?”

“What we can, Dana. What we can.”

~

_Between the idea  
And the reality  
Between the motion   
And the act  
Falls the Shadow  
  
For Thine is the Kingdom   
  
Between the conception  
And the creation   
Between the emotion   
And the response  
Falls the Shadow  
  
Life is very long  
  
Between the desire  
And the spasm   
Between the potency  
And the existence  
Between the essence  
And the descent  
Falls the Shadow  
  
For Thine is the Kingdom   
  
For Thine is  
Life is  
For Thine is the  
  
This is the way the world ends  
This is the way the world ends  
This is the way the world ends  
Not with a bang but with a whimper._

_The Hollow Men ~ T.S. Elliot_


End file.
